


Bloody Ring

by Barbar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending, Fake Marriage, Fanart, First Kiss, First Time, Gentle Mycroft, Jealous Sherlock, Johncroft, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sibling Rivalry, Threesome(optional), Translation, Venezia | Venice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 148,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbar/pseuds/Barbar
Summary: Mycroft comes to Baker Street with a proposal. John is surprised, Sherlock - disgusted. The head of the government regrets his words but he has no choice. How will this strange request affect everyone's life?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 193
Kudos: 259





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Przeklęta obrączka](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098550) by [Luthien_00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien_00/pseuds/Luthien_00). 



> This is a translation of a beloved by many, realistic and unusually warm love story with the beauty of Venice in the background. This story is not mine. The original belongs to Luthien, but for various reasons, she could not finish it. She wrote the first eighteen chapters. I have finished the last five with her blessing and ideas. Luthien promised several people she would translate her work, but she couldn't do it, so I took on this task.
> 
> English is not my first language. That's why at the beginning I apologize for all mistakes, wrong wording, and other failures. I will really try my best to have the story translated nicely, but I'm still learning. If you find any mistakes or blatant errors in formulating sentences, please let me know.
> 
> The author's story is incredibly developmental. Each subsequent chapter is longer and more refined with more details. Readers really loved her work, so I hope you also find it interesting and worth your time.

The room was silent. Everybody without problems could hear Mrs. Hudson, who was bustling downstairs in her kitchen. John, just like Sherlock, was looking at Mycroft. Older genius, the head of government and - as it seemed to the doctor - friend of the queen - stood in the middle of the room, leaning on his umbrella. His clenched jaw indicated that he was regretting his own words. However, there was no turning back now.

He was drilling a hole in John's head, who was blinking nervously. He set the cup of tea on the table, but never took his eyes away from Mycroft. He took a deep breath and burst into uncontrollable laughter. After a moment, he straightened up in his chair and buried face in hands. His stomach throbbed with laughter and he couldn't look at serious Mycroft's face. John's laughter spread throughout the flat.

However, Sherlock wasn't laughing. He knew his brother too well and knew he wasn't kidding. Mycroft didn't have a sense of humor, he adored sarcasm and treated people with superiority, although they did not know it. He stared at his brother, slowly putting down the newspaper. He heard his friend calm down a bit. John smiled and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. He was sitting with his back to Mycroft, so that's why he probably didn't know that ginger genius never took his eyes off him.

"You know what, Mycroft? Nobody has ever made me laugh so hard. I would never have guessed that you would be that person who does this" he said with amused. He shook his head and drank tea from his cup.

"John, did I ever say anything funny or wanted to make someone laugh?"

"No, that's why you surprised me so much".

The room was silent again interrupted only by John's low chuckle. He didn't have the strength to turn away yet but looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock looked ominously at his own brother. Only now John did begin to realize that something was wrong.

"Please, John. Think about it... I really wish you could give me a quick response" said Mycroft with an unchanged tone. Sherlock had to admit that he was a good actor because neither his behavior nor his voice changed even after that compromising scene.

"Stop with this show and go back to your queen, make her cup of tea or something" growled younger genius, but his words did not have any influence on his brother. Mycroft didn't even look at him.

John's face became serious. He turned in his chair, put his hand on the backrest, and fixed eyes on the older man.

"Mycroft, you were serious?"

"It doesn't matter, John! It seems my brother confused reality with his fantasies!" Sherlock shouted nervously and he turned directly to his brother, who stood with clenched teeth and only now returned his gaze. "Just because someone rubs you the wrong way doesn't mean you can come and ruin our day, Mycroft."

"I'm not talking to you right now, brother ..."

"Your request or proposal, I don't know what to call it, is outrageous and unacceptable!"

"Sherlock, please ..."

"I don't agree, do you hear me? I do not agree..."

"Forgive me, brother, but I must enlighten you. You are not the center of the world, it is not only about you. I'm talking to John and it's his decision. You have no right to impose anything on him".

"That's enough!" said John. He was fed up with this absurd situation and bizarre discussion. He still couldn't understand what had happened in those few minutes. He looked at Sherlock and Mycroft. His raised tone caught their attention. "Mycroft, I'll pretend I didn't hear your proposition. I don't even want to wonder if you were serious or not. Forgive me, but I have to go to the hospital, I'm on duty". Before John slammed the door, he looked one last time at Sherlock and Mycroft. He had the impression that the brothers were fighting a silent war. He did not support any of them, because no matter who won, he was always their only victim.

Fourteen hours earlier.

"Sherlock, your phone is ringing!" John shouted, grabbing a cool dinner from the fridge. He wasn't in the best mood. From the early morning, he had to struggle with adversity. Both at home and at work. The hospital where he worked did not have enough resources to provide help to those in need. For John as a doctor, there was nothing worse than the fact that he couldn't help patients because of a lack of money. He had enough restrictions and bans.

"Sherlock!"

"John, if you were a little observant, you'd notice I can't answer my phone."

John only now realized his friend was right. He grabbed the phone from the table and approached the bathroom. He heard the sound of water but knocked anyway. "Answer it" he muttered. He didn't hear the answer, so he slightly opened the door and put his hand with the phone inside. "Answer it," he repeated.

"My hands are wet, John. Could you?"

Oh yes. Sherlock was using his trick again - I'm busy, hold my phone. However, this time he overdid it. Is this man have no shame? "Hold it" John didn't give up. He waved the phone to force Sherlock to answer.

"John!"

"For God's sake!"

The doctor opened the door and threw the phone at his friend who was taking a shower. After a while, he slammed the door with a big smile and sat in his chair. "As if I haven't watched enough the bare butts in the army ..." he muttered to himself.

He could still hear the sound of water and Sherlock's voice. It was relaxing after such a hard day. John listened to these sounds, but some time later something else caught his attention. A car stopped outside their apartment. He heard the front door open and then the steps on the stairs. He turned his head to see Mycroft standing in the doorway.

"Good evening, John".

"Evening, Mycroft. Sherlock is ..."

"Yes, I know"

Of course. It would be strange if the elder Holmes did not know every step of his brother. John was convinced that he was closely monitored by the government and Mycroft himself too.

This time the visit of the elder Holmes was strange. Mycroft never appeared on Baker Street at such a late hour. What's more, his face was ... strange. He sat in his brother's chair and watched John with slight nervousness. 

"Sherlock should be over soon."

"I didn't come here today because of him, John."

It was even stranger. John raised an eyebrow and completely focused his attention on Mycroft. The older man wasn't feeling very comfortable and it was very visible. He cleared nervously his throat and tried to avoid John's eyes.

"Mycroft, I'm fed up with indecision for today. Tell me what you want because I'm tired of waiting".

The older man looked down again. When he finally looked like he wanted to say something, the bathroom door opened wide. Sherlock stood next to John in a towel and with his hair combed back. "I'm sorry, John. I see that this is not the best moment" said Mycroft and stood up. A moment later he disappeared from the room.

After a pleasant night, John and Sherlock ate breakfast prepared by their beloved landlady. The doctor enjoyed every minute of such a beautiful day, but his friend looked like he was thinking about something really hard.

"Mycroft's behavior was very strange yesterday," John said, sipping his tea. In response, he heard a quiet mumble. Oho ... Sherlock was angry at his brother today, so John decided not to raise the topic.

"Mycroft clearly has some uncomfortable request for you and hesitates what to do about it," the genius said after a moment.

"What do you think this is about?"

"We'll find out soon. His steps suggest that he is determined ..."

John didn't have time to ask how Sherlock knew such things when Mycroft reappeared in their apartment. He firmly opened the door and stood in the middle of the room.

"You know, Mycroft... if I didn't know you, I'd say that you either like the training you do as you climb our stairs so often, or you have a soft spot on someone here ... However, in your case, it is simply impossible".

Mycroft did not react to his accusation. He was looking at John, who also turned toward him with a cup of tea in hand.

The look of the older man was intense. "Sherlock, brother mine, could you leave us alone for a moment?" He asked without looking at the younger genius.

"Absolutely not. It's starting to get interesting, ”Sherlock said, intrigued. 

His brother sighed nervously but seemed to have reconciled with the situation because he focused only on John. "John ..." he began and hesitated for a second. He cleared his throat again and straightened proudly. " John, I would like you to consider the proposal of becoming my husband".


	2. Chapter 2

"See you, Dr. Watson!" Two nurses shouted at once just before leaving the hospital. It was the end of a very difficult day for John. He didn't even have the strength to answer, so he smiled gently, raised his hand and nodded. He wanted to go home and get some rest. He stepped out onto the pavement. Fresh or rather cool London's air surrounded his tired face. However, his peace of mind did not last long. Before the main door slammed, a black, elegant car appeared around the corner. John sighed and lowered his head. For two days, he saw this car almost everywhere. Mycroft tried to contact him and although he had managed to avoid confrontation to this moment, he knew that sooner or later he would have to talk to him.

When the car stopped on the sidewalk, none other than Mycroft came out of it. He opened the door wide without a word and waited for John. John gave him a look of tiredness and resignation, but after a moment he slipped inside the vehicle. The car drove away from the hospital. There was a moment of tension and silence between them. John looked out the window and waited for Mycroft to start the conversation. After a moment he heard him take a breath.

"John ... I am glad that we can finally talk. I would like to explain the whole situation because last time I could not explain the motives of my proposal. You probably did not fully understand my request ..."

John looked at the older man with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile. "I'm not that stupid, Mycroft. You wanted me to be your husband. So you proposed to me, right?"

Mycroft sighed softly, then looked down at his hand holding the umbrella. "Yes and no. It wasn't just a request, John. Could you give me some time to explain everything?"

John had to admit that both the unusual proposition and the extraordinary persistence of Mycroft made him curious. He wanted to learn more because he rarely got this kind of proposition. Not to mention from someone who could trigger a bomb attack with a single gesture or could change the world order - at least John thought so. He nodded. It was only now that he realized that all this time they were headed towards Baker Street. A few minutes later they stopped right away in front of Mrs. Hudson's apartment. "I thought you wanted to talk," John was surprised and grabbed the door handle. How could they do it peacefully when Sherlock was in the flat?

"You worked on two shifts, John. I don't want to drag you around the city. We can talk here if you don't mind". Mycroft stood in front of a small cafe outside the apartment. He opened the door and let John walk in first.

"Good morning, John. What can I get you? asked the owner when both men took their seats.

"Coffee. The strongest you have" he replied with a slight smile.

"And for you, sir?" the man turned to Mycroft. Holmes was sitting hesitantly for a moment, but when his eyes fell on John, he raised a corner of his mouth with an artificial smile and looked at the owner. "Tea with milk, please".

A second later they were left alone. Two men, in a small cafe, at a modest table, and with a strange proposal. John still couldn't completely believe in this absurd situation, but he decided to listen to his friend's brother out of curiosity.

"Well? What is this all about?"

Mycroft needed a few moments to gain courage. It was obvious that this was not a comfortable situation for him. "You read the newspapers, John, right?"

The doctor nodded. 

"Then you know what starts at the beginning of next week. The congress of influential politicians from around the world. Several heads of state and important delegates will be also there. Unfortunately, I was also given the honor and obligation to appear at this meeting... And I can't show up there alone. I need company, in other words, my spouse ..."

John listened to Mycroft's words with a sour expression and crossed arms.

"My proposition concerns only two weeks. After these days, everything will return to normal."

"So our marriage ..."

"Fake marriage, John," Mycroft interrupted him. "I won't demand anything from you. I just want you to stand by my side as a husband and companion. No obligations. You won't have to sign a single thing. An ordinary gentleman's agreement".

"Wait, Mycroft ..." John stopped him. "So, you need someone who will pretend to be your partner for two weeks?"

"Yes".

John leaned back in his chair with an undisguised smile and amusement on his face. "What for? Will you answer this question for me? Because I really don't understand your decisions. Why someone who practically rules Great Britain, who has links to the FBI and has access to information that is prohibited to everyone, must pretend to be in a relationship? Explain it to me because I really can't understand your way of thinking, Mycroft. Why pretend to be a happy husband if you are not one?"

The older man still looked a bit confused and now even ashamed of John's words, though he tried very hard not to show it. Finally, he raised a hand. The gold object on his finger immediately caught the eye. "That's why, John. Everyone thinks I've been involved with someone for many years. They have been pushing me for a long time to finally introduce my beloved one to them. And I, through my ill-considered action, did not explain this mistake to them. I have no choice now. Do you think anyone would trust me if it turned out that they had been cheated all these years by such an influential person? Our relations with neighboring nations could change a lot, not only in political terms ..."

Maybe Mycroft was the smartest man John knew, but he was Sherlock's brother. John managed to learn to recognize all possible reactions and emotions of both brothers. Contrary to appearances, they were very similar. That's why he knew it wasn't all truth. He knew that elder Holmes was hiding something from him. That's why this time he leaned over the table and fixed his blue eyes on the older man.

"What else? Mycroft ... you won't tell me you're afraid of losing their trust. Damn, you're the smartest guy I know. You could serve them the biggest lie on the earth and they still would believe you. You could come up with a simple excuse about this bloody ring ... So why? Why are you bothering so much to convince me of your proposal?"

Mycroft gritted his teeth and looked down. John read him like an open book and it was very disturbing.

"Why, Mycroft?"

"Because my brother allows emotions to direct his actions. As you can see, he still has not developed this blockade, thanks to which he would become completely independent of the outside world and ordinary people ...

John and Mycroft looked at Sherlock, who entered the cafe with a smile. He went to their table and gave his brother a hard look.

"Sherlock? What are you ..."

"Next time, if you don't want to be noticed, don't park your car right outside our window, Mycroft," he said, looking at brother. However, after a while, he looked away at his friend. "As I said, John. Mycroft lets emotions make decisions. He is proud and will never admit defeat. He will do anything to prove to unbelievers that he is right. Most likely there is someone - except me - who can compete with him on a high level and does not believe in his imaginary stories. Mycroft is full of pride, he wants to prove them wrong, so he will do everything to introduce you to them as his husband. Am I right, brother? "

Elder Holmes's gaze could kill. He looked like he wanted to get rid of his brother right now.

"Give up these games and leave John alone. If you once admit a mistake, the world will not turn upside down. Trust me." Sherlock once again gave his brother a look of contempt and turned toward the door. He stopped there waiting for John.

Meanwhile, the doctor sighed softly and got up from the table. "You know, Mycroft ..." he fell silent. He didn't know if he felt sorry for the older genius. He grabbed his belongings and straightened up. "You are too important man to have to convince anyone to anything. Be yourself and don't pretend to be someone you are not. You have the power and respect of many people. You don't need this pathetic lie ... "

\---

"I don't understand one thing. Why does it have to be a husband? Wouldn't it be better to introduce a woman as a wife? And why should I be the husband?"

"For one simple reason, John ..." Sherlock said without taking his eyes off the microscope. "For Mycroft women are inferior beings. They don't contribute anything to society, except that they can bring problems to weak people who allow being guided by them. Besides, he has always had to be original for as long as I can remember. Imagine the faces of his friends if he introduced his husband in front of dozens of famous people, "he added with a smile, but his satisfaction disappeared just as he remembered that his brother was sitting right in front of him on the other side of the table. "And why are you still here ?! Yesterday, we explained everything to each other - he growled at Mycroft.

Elder Holmes looked exhausted. He sat and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He was pale and weak. "I'm still waiting for John's reply."

Sherlock snorted in disbelief. John, on the other hand, felt compassion for older Holmes. He saw the desperation in his behavior and how much effort it had to cost him.

"Mycroft. You have many people around you who would agree to such a deal without a word. Why don't you ask one of your coworkers? There would certainly be a suitable person ... " John interjected.

"Trust, John. Trust is the keyword in this situation. You are a friend of Sherlock, there is no better candidate" Mycroft said with a quiet tone. It was obvious that he was already tired of the whole situation.

"Yes, yes. Besides, you are educated, you have the right qualities and in the opinion of many ordinary people, you are considered a handsome man. The perfect partner for Mycroft, who he can show off to his friends ..." the younger genius murmured and returned to research.

"Sherlock, please ... Could we not argue at least this once. Why are you still resisting and trying to make my life more difficult?"

"Because your arrogance is unbearable, Mycroft! John is a doctor and MY friend. He will not pretend to be your husband just because you have decided so!"

"John is responsible enough that he can make decisions alone, without your participation ..."

"If I was not around, you would have wrapped him around your finger long ago ..."

"And you don't do that?"

Their argument was interrupted by John's voice.

"I agree."

They both looked at the doctor, not understanding what he meant.

"I agree. I will be your pretended husband."


	3. Chapter 3

John's gaze was absent, stuck into the table in front of him. He held a cup of tea in his hands. He didn't look at the Holmes brothers, but he could feel their eyes on him. Sherlock's burning gaze and slightly lighter of Mycroft. When he raised his head, he blinked nervously and tried to avoid his friend's eyes.

"I agree," he repeated. The sound of disbelief rang in the kitchen. Its author was a younger genius.

"But on one condition ..." he added and looked at Mycroft. The older man livened up at his declaration. He showed no joy or contentment, but John saw relief on his face.

"Of course, John. I will agree to everything if it is within my reach of course ..."

Sherlock almost snorted and leaned back in his chair. It was obvious that he did not believe what was happening.

"I would like the hospital to get more funding and ensure that even patients without health insurance will have the opportunity to get help and care. You are the government, Mycroft, and I am convinced you can do it somehow ..."

Mycroft seemed surprised by John's words because he sat motionless for a moment. But after a few seconds, he nodded calmly.

"If this is your condition, then you have my word ..."

"John!" Sherlock cut in. He was clearly outraged and did not control his emotions. "You are not serious, are you ?! You are going to pretend to be a husband of this self-confident snob for two weeks and..." he fell silent, then looked at his brother furiously. "... and everything for your patients?" he yelled.

"Yes, Sherlock, because imagine, it is not such a great price, for the health and lives of dozens of people," John said calmly. This made his friend stand up without a word and with a proud and sophisticated attitude went towards his room.

"Sherlock ..." John tried to stop him but was ignored. After a while, he heard the door slam and then complete silence.

Sherlock and Mycroft never got along, they fought a kind of brotherly war. Maybe Sherlock did it, but his brother didn't make the communication easier, although he sometimes tried. John realized that his friend must have been seriously upset. It was better to leave him alone now.

John looked at Mycroft, who was watching him all the time.

"Don't worry, John. Sherlock has always been touchy and couldn't reconcile when something went wrong ... But I'm glad you decided to help me ".

"I didn't do it for you, Mycroft," said John. He put his hand on the table and pressed fingers to his eyes. He didn't know that Sherlock could react that way. However, he did not want to back down. He was convinced that his friend would calm down, and in addition, he would have the opportunity to have some fun. John felt movement beside him. When he looked at Mycroft, he was standing right next to his chair with something on his face that looked like a smile.

"Thank you, John. This is really important to me. You will learn everything you will need next week. But now it will probably be better if I leave you two alone ..." with these words he reached out his hand to John. The doctor stood up and returned the handshake. This time Mycroft had a real smile on his face. Second later elder Holmes disappeared on the stairs.

\---

John never thought that his decision would upset Sherlock to this level. Genius had not spoken to him for several days and avoided being alone with him. Even last night, when John was standing by the door with a very small carry-on suitcase, his friend was playing the violin by the window without turning around.

"Sherlock, I'm leaving. I won't be here for two weeks. Please, don't upset Mrs. Hudson..." John fell silent but did not receive a response from his friend. He dressed his jacket and opened the door. "I hope when I come back you will stop sulking ..."

The moment he turned toward the door, Sherlock suddenly spoke to him after three days of silence. "John... Don't let him wrap you around his finger. He's not as holy and virtuous as he claims to be. If Mycroft, you know ... if he tries something ..."

The doctor almost smiled and looked at his friend. He had no idea that his voice would please him so much. "If your brother tries to put his hand where it doesn't suit me, I promise to stick my fingers in his eye sockets. My virtue will not be tainted by him, Sherlock. Don't worry so much."

Sherlock didn't turn around, but John could see his smile in the reflection of the window. After a moment, without a word, he closed the door behind him. Leaving the apartment, he noticed a black car next to the sidewalk. He went inside and was surprised that Mycroft wasn't there.

"Mr. Holmes will be waiting for you at the airport," the driver said calmly. John sat back in the comfortable seat and remained silent the rest of the way.

When they arrived, the first thing that caught his eye was a small but elegant plane. Right next to him was a car with the door open and several people around it. Mycroft was among them, he was talking to the pilot of the plane. When John's car stopped a few yards in front of the machine, the driver opened door for him.

"Everything according to the plan?" Mycroft asked, walking over to John and shaking his hand in greeting.

"Rather so. It looks like even Sherlock has accepted my decision ..."

The older man looked into his eyes, then turned and headed for the plane. "I can assure you, John, that the only thing Sherlock can't overcome is his stubbornness. I doubt my brother will let go of his rivalry with me, especially when it comes to you. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to mess up my plans."

With these words, they both entered a small private plane. It had a bright interior, four armchairs covered in cream leather. Lamps were hung from the ceiling to further highlight the elegance of the aircraft. John took his seat and looked out the window.

"Are you sure, Mycroft, that is enough for me?" he asked with a raised eyebrow and pointed to his small suitcase.

"Everything is ready, John. Your new clothes are waiting for you in the hotel wardrobe. You don't have to worry about anything."

Yeah. Mycroft would never allow his 'husband' - even a fake one - to wear ordinary clothes. John didn't know much about the upcoming two weeks, but he was convinced the next days would be full of elegance and style.

They both fastened their seat belts and after a while plane was a few miles above the city. The view from the window was breathtaking. London looked amazing at night. John glanced at Mycroft, who was organizing his things. He unfolded a small table and took out a laptop. A moment later a young woman came from the back of the plane, and after pouring drinks, she disappeared as soon as she appeared. John and Mycroft were alone again.

"Why do we travel at night, Mycroft?"

"Because when we get there the temperature in the morning will be just right."

John frowned.

"How much can the temperature in Glasgow differ from temperature in London?" he muttered to himself and turned his head away. He didn't see a little smile appearing on Mycroft's lips.

"We're not going to Glasgow, John."

"But the newspapers said that this congress would take place there ..." John did not hide his surprise. He watched Mycroft, who had just finished working on the laptop. He closed it slightly and turned to John.

"Just plain misinformation to mislead potential terrorists. This congress doesn't happen often, John. Many important people will take part in it, and this is the perfect opportunity to attack. We've given the media the wrong information to be able to talk quietly elsewhere."

"So where are we going?"

"To Venice. We'll have almost half the city to ourselves, although ordinary tourists will not suspect anything."

Mycroft's secrecy and his foresight made John feel safe knowing that he was in charge of the government.

"I rented a suite at the Danieli hotel. Apart from us, there will also be some important people, so we have to enter our roles from the beginning" with these words Mycroft reached into his bag and took out a small box. "Put it on, John, and don't remove it until the end of the show."

A gold ring appeared to the doctor's eyes. It was exactly like the ring on Mycroft's finger. It was only now that he understood what he was really getting into. He was supposed to pretend to be Mycroft's husband. The husband of the most powerful and mysterious guy he knew. His heart beat faster. He looked at the older man who was staring at him with the box in his hand.

"John?"

Doctor cleared his throat and after a moment, with a bashful smile, extended his hand elegantly towards Mycroft.

"I do," he said loudly as if accepting his proposal. Elder Holmes just frowned slightly and turned John's hand over, then put the box in his hand. John sighed theatrically. He sat down in a comfortable armchair and put on a wedding ring. "Eh... What made me choose you?..." he muttered. He had to admit one thing, he loved to provoke Mycroft and put him in awkward situations. Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, he realized one more thing.

"Mycroft? Emm ... No, that's stupid ... forget it." He looked out the window but felt the stare of an older man.

"This is just a little show, John. You will be my husband only in the presence of these people, nothing else," he said as if reading his thoughts.

"No, that's not it. It's just ... somehow hard for me to imagine you in a relationship. I mean... not that tried... It's just you and Sherlock are still a mystery to me. I don't know which human behavior you practice... "

John felt slightly embarrassed talking about these things with Mycroft. He avoided his eyes, but the older man's voice caught his attention.

"Sherlock and I have been competing for as long as I can remember, John. He always wanted to be better, more independent and not get carried away by the needs of the body. But we are both human and whether he likes it or not, we both have desires and ordinary human reflexes. I do not defend myself against these feelings, because I know that nothing good will come out of it, whereas my brother does not want to give up for it... that's why he is so tense and stressed.

Do you have sex? John couldn't ask him that. But he had to admit that he was interested in this side of Mycroft. It was good to know that he wasn't as distant and cool as he wanted to be. He had to admit that he liked the idea of discovering the real side of older Holmes more and more.

"I will avoid a situation that could be embarrassing for both of us, John."

"You mean like kissing?" he asked directly what shocked Mycroft.

Genius cleared his throat and reached into his bag again.

"You know, Mycroft. It's not like I'm averse to men. If it's necessary, you can do it," he said with a smile. Another grunt confirmed his conviction that Mycroft was not used to this type of behavior. The older man pulled out a small textbook and handed it to the doctor.

"Savoir Vivre? What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, completely dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry I didn't have time to give it to you earlier. You know, John ... in the world of great politics, certain behaviors are obligatory. I'm not saying..." Mycroft did not want to offend John and tried to find the right words, but the doctor did not look satisfied with his efforts.

He grabbed the book and looked at it several times. "So you say I don't know how to behave like a gentleman?" he asked in a rough tone, which did not bode well.

Mycroft closed his eyes and inhaled nervously. "That's not what I meant, John. I just want you ..."

"to not give you a reason to be ashamed? Our marriage lasts less than ten minutes, and we have already argued ..."

"John ..."

"Good night, Mycroft!" he growled quietly, turned toward the window and wrapped a warm blanket around him. He heard the older man sighed. When he closed his eyes, he subconsciously still saw the lights of London and Sherlock standing in the window.

He was awakened by a gentle touch on his shoulder.

"John, we're here" Mycroft's tone was the same. Delicate but firm. It wasn't until a few moments later when John rubbed his eyes and looked out the window, he saw sunny Venice and he thought it was worth agreeing to Mycroft's offer. Even if only for the view.


	4. Chapter 4

Hotel Danieli was located on the very edge of the main canal in Venice and could be reached by two roads. By land, leading through narrow and crowded streets, or by water, using a motorboat or gondola. For John, who knew his husband, the choice was obvious. Mycroft chose a motorboat. He generally despised the crowds and avoided confrontation - even the smallest - with people who did not have much value in his eyes.

For the doctor, traveling through the channels was an amazing experience. He could see and admire not only the architecture but also the history recorded on the walls and stones of the old city. He almost regretted when the motorboat swam ashore. 'Almost' because the view of the hotel and its surroundings was breathtaking.

"Come, John," said Mycroft. He stood proudly on the wooden platform and waited for the doctor. As soon as John set foot on land, a hotel employee grabbed his modest suitcase and headed for the building. John looked at Mycroft, who smiled tenderly at him and also headed for the building.

The interior was exactly as John imagined. The elegant, old-fashioned decor gave a sense of comfort and security. If John were to imagine Mycroft's house, it would be in this style. Somehow it suited his character and manners.

"Mr. Holmes, welcome to our hotel. We have already prepared an apartment for you," said the man behind the counter cheerfully and almost excitedly. He took one of the hanging keys and personally led the men to the first floor. When he opened the door with an aristocratic movement, John felt a strong and refreshing wind on his face.

The room, or rather the living room, was huge and as fashionable as the rest of the hotel. Opposite the entrance were large windows with curtains down to the ground. One of them was open and it was through them that a calming wind was blowing into the room. The gentleman handed keys to Mycroft and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

"Make yourself at home," Mycroft's voice hit John's ears with a delay. He still couldn't get over that he was in this situation. Before he could react and look around the room, his husband disappeared from his view. Without thinking, John went to the open window. He saw the stretching water surrounded by old buildings. Crowds of people penetrated somewhere between streets, and gondolas and motorboats passed lazily on the shiny water.

When smiling John turned his head, he saw the silhouette of Mycroft, who was standing in the passage of the other room. He stood calm, which must mean something was wrong. John walked away from the window and approached Mycroft slowly. His husband's face was thoughtful and his eyes narrowed. John tried to figure out what was wrong, but he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Sherlock would surely point out at that moment that he could see but not observe.

"Mycroft? What happened?" He asked when he had had enough silence. Instead of an answer, he heard a murmur of dissatisfaction. Only now John realizes that the eyes of the older man were focused on the big bed.

"You'll find everything you need in our wardrobe, John. There's a bathroom," he said, pointing at the door in the corner of the room. He passed the doctor, almost brushing him with his body, and returned to the living room.

"Are you going somewhere?" John asked, following his steps.

"I need to meet someone and do some things. Besides, I have something to say to the hotel manager."

Mycroft checked something in the bag on the sofa, then headed for the exit. But before he pulled the door handle, he turned to John. "If you need anything, call the reception. I'll be around... I'll try to come back before you finish taking a bath. John... Please. Please, stay in the room and don't leave until my return" he was almost begging.

John couldn't answer because Mycroft left the room. He was alone in a large apartment with a view of glorious Venice. He still didn't understand what irritated Mycroft so much but decided not to think about it any longer.

\---

Hours passed and Mycroft was still gone. Since he had disappeared early in the morning, John had not heard from him. So what if he sat in an elegant living room, in a new suit, and had empty plates in front of him after eating a tasty dinner, when he was bored like never before. And what was with this idea that he couldn't leave the room? Was he a prisoner or something? Where exactly was Mycroft and why wasn't he coming back? These questions gave John no peace. He wanted to explore, watch and enjoy the charm of Venice.

At one point he had had enough. He got up from the comfortable sofa with determination and went to the main door. It was hot and sunny, so he threw off his tie, but stayed in his vest. He was in an elegant hotel, after all, so he could not afford to dress freely. With a deep breath, he pulled the golden door handle.

Standing in the hall, he looked for Mycroft, but he was not around.

"Buongiorno, signore!"

John almost jumped when he heard a cheerful female voice behind him. He saw a tiny woman. She smiled at him and raised her hands in welcome. Her red and close-fitting dress emphasized feminine charms, and despite her older age, John had to admit that she was a very attractive woman. A smile appeared involuntarily on his face. He approached and kissed the top of her hand that she offered to him.

"Welcome to Mr. Venice, Mr. Watson!" she said in broken English with undisguised joy. She almost threw herself into his arms. John had no idea who she was, but he guessed that she must have been one of the important people and a friend of Mycroft. He didn't even have time to draw a breath to answer when the woman grabbed his arm.

"Oh mio Dio! Where is my manners! I am Francesca Coletti. My husband is a friend of your husband! We are family!" she said almost laughing. John immediately loved her joyful nature and was not disturbed by her accent or misleading words. He went by her side down the stairs and listened to the passionate stories.

The hotel was so big that it was easy to get lost in. He was happy to accompany Mrs. Coletti and did not even realize that they had been circling the main hall for several minutes. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure. When he looked up, he saw Mycroft talking to a man. His husband didn't look pleased. He looked as if he wanted to disappear or free himself from the company of his interlocutor. His teeth were slightly clenched and his dead eyes fixed on a man who seemed to be enjoying his bad mood.

"Isn't that you marito?" Francesca asked. John walked toward Mycroft without a word, but he still held the woman by his side. Mycroft's eyes grew big when he saw John. He blinked nervously and the doctor could swear he saw Mycroft swallowed hard. The other man's gaze also fell on John. He fell silent and watched him closely.

"I was looking for you," John said in a warm tone. He felt that Mycroft was having a hard time. When Mrs. Coletti released his elbow, he bowed slightly at her, then approached Mycroft and faced the strange but good-looking man.

"I'm sorry, John. I had more things to do than I thought I would have," he said. "This is Aaron Stoner. New Zealand's Minister of Internal Affairs. Mr. Stoner, this is..."

"John Watson" handsome man interrupted him, extending his hand toward the doctor. His gesture was not only elegant but even erotic. He slowly squeezed the blond's hand. John had the impression that he would be eaten alive by his gaze. Aaron made the move as if he were going to raise John's hand to his mouth, but John firmly strengthened his handshake - like a real soldier - and withdrew his hand.

It caused a sincere smile on the other man's face. He secretly looked at John's golden ring. Then he looked up and gave Mycroft a cheeky grin before staring at the doctor again. "Mycroft told me a lot about you," he murmured in an alluring voice.

John forced himself not to frown. He clung even closer to his husband's shoulder and came up with an idea that none of the men probably expected. He wrapped his hand around Mycroft's. It was warm and delicate. Mycroft's body tensed and froze.

"That's very kind. Thank you. Unfortunately, he didn't mention you even once. Perhaps, he thought it wasn't worth doing it," he murmured strongly but coldly to Aaron. The man was surprised and did not know how to react. Finally, he giggled.

Meanwhile, John didn't know why, but he didn't like him. Perhaps it was because he saw Mycroft's face and Aaron's wily mannerisms. After all, he played with Mycroft in one team and did not want to let anyone interrupt them in the win. He turned his face toward his husband, leaned forward gently and murmured calmly into his ear. "Let's go back to the room ..."

At that moment, Mycroft shivered. Almost imperceptibly, but still. He tensed even more and nodded, staring into Aaron's eyes. They both said goodbye to Francesca. Mycroft did not look at John, just clenched his hand tighter and went up the stairs heading for the apartment.

\---

"Tomorrow evening I'll introduce you to others. It will be a long day, so sleep well, John."

John was drinking his tea at a low table in the living room. He looked at Mycroft, who was working on a laptop by the window. It was late, and yet, the older man did not look like he was going to sleep.

"He said you told him about me. For how long have you decided to treat me like your imaginary husband, Mycroft? How long have you used my name to convince others that we're married?" he asked, crossing his legs. He sat down comfortably and finished his tea. Mycroft didn't turn away, just sighed softly. This conversation was inconvenient for him.

"Sherlock was right, am I wrong? Aaron Stoner is the one who you compete with and who doesn't believe in our fairy tale... That's why you didn't want me to leave our apartment. You were afraid that I might meet him by accident and our secret would come out to light ".

"I had no idea that he would be in this hotel. I found out he lived on the other side of town and I have absolutely no idea why he was here. Although I have my suspicions..."

"Mycroft, we agreed to work together, but I won't let you lock me in the room. I won't wait for your orders. If you want this whole thing to be successful, you must tell me about your plans and let me know everything."

"Of course I know that, John. I wanted to practice what you needed to know right after we arrived, but you saw that there was no time for it... Today is too late already and you are tired. We will leave it for the morning. Tomorrow's banquet does not start until late in the evening".

It was quite late. The full moon shone outside the window and reflected on still water. The streets were abandoned, only lonely couples were passing quietly somewhere. Before John went to the bedroom, he looked at the small pile of bedclothes on the couch. The small pillow and thin blanket did not match this room and looked very depressing on the decorated sofa.

John's eyes fell on Mycroft, who was still in his suit with the shirt sleeves rolled up. He was writing something on a laptop. After a while, the doctor got up and walked to the bedroom door. "You know, Mycroft, you don't have to sleep on this couch...".

"I don't mind, John. The hotel manager made a small mistake, but in a few days, an apartment with two beds should be free for us. I was assured that when this happens, we will be informed immediately. Until then, I have nothing against sleeping on the sofa" he muttered, without taking his eyes off the screen.

There was no help for the Holmes brothers. Both were uncompromising and resolute in their decisions. John didn't even think about the further discussion. He turned on his heel and put his hand on the door handle. "Good night, Mycroft".

"Good night, John... and thank you."

After these words, John closed the bedroom door.


	5. Chapter 5

His left hand was holding a cup of tea. In the other one, he was holding a phone. He was smiling while reading messages from Sherlock. Genius tormented him with text messages and John understood it was really difficult for him to function away from his friend. Some of the messages were ratty, but he had already got used to it.

It was a warm morning. A light breeze reached them from the open window. They heard the conversations of tourists who stood outside the hotel and waited for free gondolas. John sipped his tea on the couch, and Mycroft stood in an open window. One more step would be enough and he would go out onto the small balcony. The bedding and pillow disappeared from the sofa before John woke up. He wondered if Mycroft slept that night at all.

"Has he contacted you? I'm talking about Sherlock" John asked, breaking the silence in the room. 

Mycroft was still standing in the window, looking at the city. "After the eleventh call, I blocked his number ...".

"He doesn't let you rest, huh?" John's nagging tone didn't force Mycroft to turn away and look at him.

"My brother is always trying to annoy me. And he often succeeds. Unfortunately. Now he tries to do it even stronger because you are with me. I guess he will never get bored of these games..." he mumbled the last sentence into his cup. When he took the last sip, he straightened up and sighed

John couldn't take his eyes off him. In the warm morning light, Mycroft's face seemed younger, more harmonious. It was as if he had thrown off the mask he wore every day. It was a very nice change. A moment later, John almost rolled his eyes. Mycroft must have suffered on a narrow couch at night because he massaged his aching neck with a grimace. 'I told you so'. This sentence danced on John's tongue. However, he turned his head and chewed his lip.

"John. This evening we have a special meeting - the official opening of our congress. We must be present. I would like to explain everything to you slowly, but I really don't have time now" Mycroft said, finally turning to the doctor and putting on his wristwatch. "I need to meet someone urgently".

"When will you be back?"

"As soon as possible"

This time John rolled his eyes. He was tired of Mycroft's behavior. Why couldn't he just answer such a simple question? He watched as his husband took the rest of his elegant suit from the sofa and stopped at the door. He wanted to ask John not to leave their apartment but he gave up.

"Please, don't get lost, I don't want to walk around the city looking for you...".

John raised a corner of his mouth. "I didn't get lost in the Afghan desert or the mountains. Why should it be different this time?"

Mycroft sighed and left the apartment with a small nod.

\---

"John, I will repeat it as many times as necessary. I did it for your safety. Not to control you" Mycroft's calm tone irritated John even more. Of course, genius thought it was nothing and he was not at fault. "Please, don't sulk, just sit down and listen. You're an adult man, don't act like a small child. We'll reach the destination in a moment, and ..."

"Mycroft, I don't angry because you sent your people to follow me all over the city. I angry at you for not even having the slightest trust in me, you treat me like a little boy and forbid me to leave the hotel. You give me some funny book about manners and you demand my obedience... ".

A sudden wave interrupted John's lecture. He sighed heavily and gripped the railing of the boat. They sailed through the dark canals of Venice. Although both men were in a small closed cabin, a refreshing wind came through the open windows. John's hair waved with the boat's movements, and Mycroft couldn't help but watch his hair very closely.

"I'm worried, John ... I'm in this position for the first time. For the first time, I have to rely on someone else but myself."

Mycroft's words caught John's attention. He finally joined him and took his place on a wooden chair. "But this time you have no choice" he muttered in a kind voice, looking into the eyes of an older man. "If there is a slight chance that it will succeed, then you have to try to trust me and let me act on my own. You can't control everything and everyone, Mycroft. Look at me and promise from now on you will try to stop with this whole spying on me".

Despite the visible resistance, Mycroft nodded. He knew controlling John wasn't a good option. However, it was difficult for him to give up this power since he had the opportunity to do so. John pretended to be his husband and he had to trust him at least because of it. After all, they both wanted their secret to remaining a secret.

As their boat trip came to an end, Mycroft decided to remind John of the last important advice. "John, remember. I will introduce you to the guests. If a woman reaches her hand out to you, shake it, but don't kiss unless she gives you a sign to do so..."

John listened to Mycroft intently. In the world of goldfish, everything had its rules, and John remembered them. Their boat arrived at the port and moored near the large floodlit building. Both men went ashore.

"... Don't drink alcohol until the last drop, just ask for another glass. Don't talk about yourself unless you are asked to do it. And most importantly..." Mycroft stopped halfway. He looked John in the eyes and lowered his voice. "... avoid Stoner as much as you can and stay close to me."

John looked into his eyes for a moment. They stood in silence and the atmosphere between them became more intimate. Finally, John nodded slightly and walked alongside his pretend husband to the building.

Hotel The Hilton Molino Stucky Venice was one of the largest in the city. Very elegant and - as John assumed - incredibly expensive. That is why he was not surprised when it turned out that all the banquets and important meetings would take place here. A red-gold carpet decorated the hotel entrance, and the whole building was floodlit by numerous lamps. The interior of the building, hall, and stairs, leading to the residential part, emitted a cozy atmosphere, although the richness and decorations could make the people dizzy.

After passing a dozen people dealing with the smooth operation of the hotel and reception, John stood in front of the glass door. When the door was opened, he almost covered his eyes. He did not expect that he would ever be able to be on this kind of important and elegant event. He was standing by Mycroft's side in the banquet hall. He had to raise his head high up to see the ceiling and strain his eyes to see the pairs on the other side of the room. Tables with food and alcohol stood near the walls. John could hear conversations and quiet music coming from the center of the room.

John realized he was standing motionless when Mycroft pulled him gently into the room. They were passed by many other pairs. People bowed slightly and smiled as they looked at them. John and Mycroft had to stop to say hello to some, but after a while, Mycroft led John to the other end of the room again. At some point, they heard a familiar voice.

"Finalmente! John, you even do not know how much I was wait for you. "

John smiled honestly. He left Mycroft and approached Francesca. She was walking toward them with a glass in her hand. John didn't know how it happened, but she looked even more gorgeous than the day before. This time, however, instead of the usual greeting, Francesca handed a glass to her partner, who was holding a little behind her and grabbed John's face with both of her hands, forcing him to lean down. John felt a warm kiss on his cheek. He saw Mycroft out of the corner of his eye. The genius smiled slightly and shook hands with Francesca's partner.

"This is me husband, John. Franco Coletti," she said, then greeted Mycroft with a smile. Two men began to speak Italian, but John did not pay attention to them. He was still very impressed with both Francesca and the whole party. After a while, he focused on Mycroft, who surprised him more and more. John did not expect genius could hide his dislike of crowds so easily. He had no problems discussing with Franco and smiling at the same time.

After a few minutes, Mr. and Mrs. Coletti left after a small nod. Passing through the room, John met more new people. He knew some of them from television and newspapers and he still couldn't get over Mycroft. Holmes knew them by name, but it looked as if they felt honor looking at Mycroft. John felt he was the object of their interest too. They finally got the opportunity to meet Mycroft's husband. The mysterious husband Mycroft tried to hide for so many years. Some people approached them with smiles, others watched them from distant.

John had to admit that this part of the party was nice but tiring. That's why he was glad when Mycroft found a dark corner where they could hide away from the crowds.

"Here, John," said Mycroft, handing him a glass of champagne.

"Everything is going well for now. But... why is it so stiff here? Why is nobody dancing?" John asked. Mycroft came over to him and put his hand on the table behind John's back. He leaned over to whisper something in his ear.

"Can you imagine any of us dancing, John? We're too serious people, and we don't think about that sort of thing".

"But some people ordered and paid the orchestra," John said and pointed at the band. It's true their music was not much fun, but John was of the opinion it was because none of the guests stood on the dance floor.

"It's just small diversion to the banquet. Nobody thinks sincerely about dancing...".

"I do," John said and looked straight at Mycroft's surprised face.

"John, you can't seriously ..."

"You are so formal, Mycroft. And you impose this type of behavior on others. I'm sure there are a lot of people in this room who would happily go to the dance floor if someone else dared to do it. Besides, your brother didn't teach me how to dance so I would stand quietly against the walls now when there are so many beautiful women around.

"John..." this time Mycroft's tone was a warning. His eyes said 'you must be kidding me'. But before he could react, his husband put down his glass and started walking towards Francesca with a determined look.

Mycroft watched him and didn't know how to react. John did what he wanted again and there was no way to stop him. Genius saw him approach Mr. Coletti. He bowed low and exchanged a few words with the man. A wide smile appeared on Francesca's face. A second later she went with John to the center of the room. Mycroft didn't know why, but his heart was pounding. He did not want John's behavior to be badly received, and at the same time, he felt calm, looking at his pose and behavior. Everything looked good.

His thoughts were interrupted by a low chuckle. He turned his head and almost moaned when he noticed Aaron standing next to him and holding a glass of champagne. Stoner watched John with a smile.

"John Watson is really unique. No wonder you paid special attention to him," he said. Mycroft did not want to be provoked. He watched John. He returned to Francesca after speaking with the orchestra. The first sounds of the waltz echoed in the hall.  
To Mycoft's relief, his husband really could dance. He was spinning, holding Francesca in his arms and smiling at the people. More and more people came to the dance floor and watched this extraordinary scene.

"It's nice to see someone who is so different from all of those serious and stiff politicians. I wonder how someone like you ..." he looked at Mycroft with an apologetic look "...no offense. Like someone like you seduced and married someone as independent as John".

"What are you going to say?" Mycroft asked and looked at Aaron.

"Nothing," the attractive man said and raised his hands. "I'm just impressed, Mycroft..." he added with pretended admiration.

Holmes had had enough. He gave the other man a fake smile, grabbed a new glass of alcohol and went to the terrace. He had to rest and clear his mind in the fresh air.

"I wonder if he would agree to one dance with me".

Mycroft heard Aaron's voice behind his back but did not turn toward him. "You can ask him. Although I doubt, he'll agree".

Sounds of music and applause of delighted people kept coming from the room. Mycroft tried to relax in the warm night. He watched the stars reflecting in the water and stared at passing motorboats and yachts. He didn't even hear when the music died down a bit and when John stood next to him.

His cheeks were red, his eyes were grinning, and he was breathing heavily. Mycroft saw John had fun. Genius looked at his eyes.

"You have no idea how much you lost when you left the room, Mycroft," John said. He was happy but a little tired.

"It seems so..." he muttered and although he knew he shouldn't do it, he gave the doctor his glass. John drank alcohol in one move and looked at his fake husband with a smile. He felt a bit strange because Mycroft did not stop watching him, even for a second. 

Mycroft looked at him intensely, then turned his body toward him and stood at a very uncomfortable distance.

John put the glass down on the porch railing. He avoided Mycroft's stare, but his eyes were too magnetic. The long silence was unbearable. John wanted to clear his throat to stop this strange, tense atmosphere, but he couldn't do it. He looked at Mycroft with confusion. His face and body were getting closer to John. He almost jumped when he felt Mycroft's hand on his fingers.

Mycroft slowly raised John's hand to his mouth, still looking deep into his eyes. "We're being watched" he murmured softly at John's fingers.

John finally understood his strange behavior. He almost breathed a sigh of relief, but he suddenly realized a kiss in the hand would not be the last thing that would happen between them in that evening.


	6. Chapter 6

The wind grew a bit stronger although it was barely noticeable until now. A firm breeze gently moved John's hair and cooled his red and burning cheeks. Seconds passed very slowly, he had the impression time stood still and in the most uncomfortable situation for them. His pulse quickened and he felt hot blood pulsing in his veins.

Mycroft was still staring intently at him, blowing warm air into his hand. He looked as if he was afraid to make any other move. He literally froze up with John's hand pressed to his lips. They both felt someone's eyes on them. This person was standing in the large window of the banquet hall. It was as if they wanted to see how far John and Mycroft could go.

John had no idea how long they stood in this position, but the situation was starting to get really uncomfortable. Mycroft didn't look like he was going to do anything at all. He just stood there and tried to wait out this difficult moment for both of them.

"What are you waiting for?" John murmured with a thick voice. He didn't understand why Mycroft did nothing. From the very beginning of their agreement, John had already expected this possibility. He knew that there would come a time when they would have to prove their feelings to others. The kiss was not unusual for him - if he could say that when he was about to kiss a man like Mycroft.

His words snatched the older man out of some trance. He blinked quickly, took a deep and nervous breath. But, he did not release John's hand. His eyes were filled with uncertainty and hesitation, which was disturbing and did not suit him.

"Mycroft, kiss me..." John snapped through gritted teeth. He didn't do it because he wanted to taste another man's lips at all costs, he did it to stop this absurd situation. No one in their right mind would believe they were a loving marriage if they did not even take advantage of such a suitable situation to show their feelings to each other.

Mycroft's breath became even warmer. John tightened his fingers on his hand and pulled it down. Now the only barrier between them was the air and cold wind, which increased with every second. Mycroft was afraid to lower his eyes to look at John's lips. He considered what to do, but there was no way out.

To John's strange relief, his husband made a slow and gentle move forward. He bowed his head and brought his face closer, but he still had a pleading look and looked like he was waiting for a miracle. Maybe someone will interrupt us - as it happens in some cheap movies - John thought. Mycroft's lips were getting closer, both of them slowly closed their eyes when a strong wind knocked an unstable glass off the balustrade. A crystal glass shattered on the ground, making John and Mycroft jumped in shock.

They looked at the broken glass. John heard a soft sigh of relief. He looked at Mycroft, who tried not to show how much this situation cost him. He cleared his throat and looked at John. He was The Mycroft again, a serious and confident man.

"Let's go inside, John. It will be better for your health if we do not stand in this wind," he said calmly and took the doctor's hand. This gesture seemed so innocent to Mycroft now that he didn't even think what he had done. He pulled John toward a huge, decorated door. John noticed out of the corner of his eye that the mysterious figure was still standing in the window.

When they entered the hall, John was surrounded by Francesca and other women who were charmed by his behavior and a completely different way of being. They pulled him away from Mycroft, and John was grateful for that. For reasons he did not understand at that moment, he felt annoyed and angry at his husband, although he had no idea why. Walking with a group of women, he gave Mycroft one last look. He noticed Aaron, who was standing next to his husband with a glass in hand and a satisfied smile on his face. He definitely tried to tease Mycroft, and he probably succeeded. If John hadn't been so strangely annoyed, he would have probably saved the older man, but he wasn't going to do it now. He was fed up with Mycroft's strange game and decided to avoid him by the end of the evening.

\---

He was awakened by the sound of water coming from behind the closed bathroom door. It was a warm morning, John had no idea what time it was, but he wasn't going to waste more time. He slid off the huge bed very slowly and stretched with a loud grunt, looking out of the open window.

He turned his head and looked at the living room. Like the night before Mycroft slept on the couch, and just as before, all the evidence for it had disappeared. John started to seriously consider his husband's habits. Was he sleeping or maybe he was sitting all night working on a laptop? Was he in the room or did he meet with someone? Mycroft was one big secret.

By the time John entered the living room, the water in the bathroom had stopped. He suspected that after the previous day there would be a tense atmosphere between them. However, he knew Mycroft and he was almost certain he would spend the day alone. It didn't bother him. He didn't come to Italy to spend every moment with Mycroft, after all.

He looked around the room, not noticing a single Mycroft's private thing. He had the impression the older man did not want to show his human side. It was annoying, mysterious but intriguing. To his surprise, he heard a soft knock on the front door. He covered himself with the hotel dressing gown and pulled on the door handle.

"Buongiorno, John".

Francesca's voice had always put John in a good mood. He couldn't control his grin. He bowed slightly and let the tiny woman into the room.

"Am I interrupting?" Francesca asked and looked around for Mycroft.

"Of course not. But I didn't expect you this early in the morning. Mycroft is taking a bath, but he should join us soon," John said. He offered her a place on the couch, but she walked briskly to the window and looked out.

"I did not comes because of Mycroft, my dear. I have an offer for you and your husband," she said cheerfully. Her friendly attitude greatly affected John. Despite her older age, she was a very beautiful woman and she treated him as a friend. 

He came to Francesca. She grabbed his hands with slender fingers.

"I want to get to know you more, John. Mycroft told me a lot, but it's still not enough. My husband like you too. He has a meeting with Mycroft and others today, but ..."

Mycroft's quiet entrance to the room interrupted her. John looked at him and almost shook his head. His husband looked impeccable, as usual, despite the fact that he had been in the bathroom a moment earlier. He was wearing a three-piece suit and elegant shoes on his feet. He approached them, then kissed her hand with a small smile.

"I am sorry, Mycroft, I bothering you this morning. You are in a hurry, but Franco and I wanted to have dinner with you today. Could it be?" she asked, looking at Mycroft and John.

"With pleasure, Francesca. I was actually going to ask you a favor today ..." Mycroft looked at his husband. "I have several meetings by noon. I know I'm asking for a lot, but I have to leave you alone. Francesca, you could ..." he said, looking at the woman again.

"Of course, Mycroft. I will taked care of your beloved one during the day. I will show John Venice, and we will had dinner together," she interrupted him. She looked at John with a smile and saw that he also liked the idea.

The older man bowed gently, passed them, and when he was halfway to the exit, he stopped suddenly and stood still for a moment. Then he turned on his heel and came to John, who had no idea what was going on. Mycroft stood next to him but avoided his eyes. The doctor raised his eyebrow.

"I'm leaving," Mycroft said, after clearing his throat. He leaned forward hesitantly and kissed his pretended husband on the forehead. John refrained from sighing at the last moment. However, before he could react, the older man incredibly quickly disappeared from the apartment. John looked at Francesca. She looked a bit embarrassed, but she was smiling and giggling.

"Your Mycroft is so shy," she said cheerfully.

"Yeah. You can say that" he muttered.

\---

Loud laughter was heard almost across the water. It did not bother anyone, because the terrace that Mr. Coletti had booked that evening was empty. John did not even think Mycroft's friends might be such pleasant people, although Francesca charmed him from the first moment.

Two marriages sat at a small table, with a lovely view of the main canal. The sun was slowly hiding behind horizon, and warm air mixed with a light breeze. Delicious food and a large number of lamps created a very charming atmosphere.

From time to time, John looked at smiling Mycroft, who was sitting to his right. He had the opportunity to see that behind this cool mask Mycroft presented to the world, he was a gentle and talkative man. Both brothers perfectly mastered the art of acting, but John knew one thing - Mycroft finally did not hide his real face. He liked Mr. and Mrs. Coletti and did not even try to hide it. John guessed their shared accommodation in the same hotel was no accident. Francesca's laughing voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"So, how was it, John?" she asked. Her eyes were shining and her lips were stretched with a smile. Unfortunately, John was too absorbed in his own thoughts and he didn't hear her question. He looked at Mycroft with a soundless question in his eyes.

"Francesca wants to know how we met," Mycroft said calmly and took a sip of his wine. His nonchalant tone meant one thing - it was John who was supposed to make up their past. Clearly, Mycroft never bothered to even try to do it.

"Not in the way I would have liked. He just kidnapped me and blackmailed me" John said smoothly, shaking his arms at the same time. He saw Mycroft choking on wine. It made John raise the corner of his mouth. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Coletti burst out laughing. Mycroft gave John a look of disbelief and resentment.

"Oh, yes! It's so typical of Mycroft!" Francesca couldn't stop laughing.

"What are you talking about?" Mycroft asked quietly, putting down his glass and wiping his hand because he accidentally poured it with wine. John pretended not to understand his consternation. He opened his eyes wide and shook his head.

"That's how it was, my love..." he added. He stuck his nails into his thigh because the last word made him laugh almost as much as Mycroft's expression when he said it. He had to admit he loved to put this man in such awkward and embarrassing situations.

"I didn't kidnap you, John. I don't even know where the word 'kidnap' came from..." Mycroft muttered. He looked discreetly at Francesca and Frano.

"How so? You played with cameras, sent a car and told me to get in..."

Francesca's giggle made Mycroft give up. Genius looked resigned. He sank into a chair and buried face in his hand.

"Then he said he would pay me to spy on his brother..." John continued, giving them even more fun. 

"... of course I refused and wanted to leave, but Mycroft started to read me like an open book..." his tone became subtler and warmer.

"... He told me about things I did not know. He made me aware of what I missed and for the first time in a long time I started to feel fear and respect. However, at the same time I felt safe because this intelligent man did not try to hurt me, he only helped me understand myself. I felt great respect and ... I let it overwhelm me. He charmed me ... "he said softly, looking calmly at Mycroft.

Genius was watching him for some time. John saw gratitude in his eyes and some sort of approval. Francesca was delighted. Her glittering eyes were full of admiration. 

The rest of the dinner was pleasant. John enjoyed the company and cheerful conversations, but once in a while, he caught Mycroft's gaze. The older man was relaxed and calm, and the chill in his eyes was replaced by a warm spark that glowed until the end of the evening.

"Thank you, John. You helped me today," Mycroft said, as he walked next to him, across a wide corridor to their apartment. It was a late night, so they tried to get to the room as quiet as possible.

"You know, Mycroft ... I also want it to succeed. After all, the health and lives of my patients depend on it."

"You can be sure they will be fine. I never change my mind. Your hospital will get a grant, even if our plan fails."

"Speaking of which," John's tone became more serious. They were standing right in front of the apartment entrance, but John blocked the door and didn't let Mycroft open it. He stood in front of him with his arms crossed on his chest.

"What is the matter, John?"

"It was your idea, so why don't you even try to get into the role?" John asked. He felt anger rising again, but Mycroft looked confused.

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"Mycroft, no one will believe us if we don't cooperate. I know the most important thing for you is your work and to build good relations with all these people, but if you want to convince them that I am your husband, try more because for now, your behavior contradicts your words. Do not be so stiff. If necessary, do not be afraid to act... ".

Mycroft's eyes wandered as if he did not understand or did not want to understand John's words and his complaints.

John could not stand it anymore. With a sound of annoyance and irritation, he straightened up, climbed lightly on his toes, and grabbed the taller man by the shirt, pulling him down. He joined their lips for a literal few seconds, then pulled away from him.

"Next time, don't hesitate. And instead of kissing my forehead, kiss me like I was the person you love. It won't kill me or you, Mycroft."

John turned on his heel without waiting for the other man's response and then entered the room.


	7. Chapter 7

The screen on the phone flashed in a dark room, waking John from a heavy sleep. It was late at night. John was barely awake and still sleepy. He raised his head and reached over to the phone, vibrated on the cabinet next to the bed. It took a long time for his eyes to get used to the bright light. It took him some time to read a message he got from his friend. He smiled and when he was thinking about the answer, he got another message. And another one.

John was never able to write so fast as Sherlock, so he waited for his friend to write everything he wanted to tell him. The messages came one after another. John put the phone on his stomach and covered eyes with his shoulder. The vibrations kept him awake, so he was conscious all the time.

After some time, he couldn't help smiling. Sherlock must have had a hard day or he suffered from boredom because the phone kept vibrating. John finally picked it up to check how many messages he got. Fifteen... He shook his head in amusement and then he suddenly noticed the light from the other room. The light entered the bedroom through a crack in the door.

John checked the time. It was almost 3 AM. He put down his still vibrating phone, threw away the bedding and quietly got out of bed. He gently pushed the door. He saw Mycroft, who - despite the late hour - was still working on the laptop. The cold light on his face made him look paler and skinnier than usual. There was a bedding set up on the couch and an unbuttoned suitcase next to it.

Everything seemed to indicate that Mycroft was getting ready to sleep, but work still occupied a more important place in his life. John tilted his head and looked at the older man. Mycroft leaned back in the chair and rubbed his tired eyes. He must have known he was being watched because he finally turned his head and looked at John.

They stared at each other in silence. John didn't even try to convince the other man to take some rest. He knew he shouldn't interfere. It took him a moment but he looked away with a soft sigh and closed the bedroom door.

\---

"Thank you," John said happily, walking beside Mycroft. For the first time since they arrived in Venice, they had breakfast together not in the apartment, but the elegant hotel restaurant. John was very pleased with this change and was glad that Mycroft changed his attitude a bit, showing him around the hotel.

"We all need some change sometimes, John". 

John clearly saw Mycroft was in a good mood, even now when he read the messages he got from his brother. They both walked slowly through the main hall and enjoyed the pleasant coolness. The temperature outside was almost unbearable, that's why John was happy when Mycroft decided he could stay in the apartment today and not accompany him to conferences.

"Speaking of which..." John said. His tone attracted Mycroft's attention. They both stood face to face next to one of the columns. "Do you know anything about our new apartment?" he asked. 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and looked around. "Unfortunately, the hotel staff don't bother to make our lives simpler, John. We'll probably have to deal with this situation for some time. I hope this doesn't cause you too much trouble."

"Oh, no. Of course not ..." John added quickly. He didn't want to complain or anything. He just knew Mycroft. He was as stubborn as Sherlock and it was not easy to convince him of any idea. After all, he was a genius and did not let others impose his choices.

However, John was a doctor and saw the condition of the older man who was unlikely to be used to discomfort. Mycroft's spine was not in good condition. It hurt him more and more every day and because of this, he was sleepy and irritated. John felt guilty, but he didn't even offer him to share the bedroom. Mycroft was too proud and secretive to reveal his human behavior, even if it was as trivial thing as sleep or rest.

"I don't want you to misunderstand me, Mycroft ..."

"I know," the older man added and nodded toward the stairs with a smile. John noticed Francesca and her husband. They were waiting for them. Francesca walked over with her arms wide open. She grabbed John's face and kissed his both cheeks. 

"Mycroft, my dear. Why do you keeping John just for you? Don't hide him from the world, it's nearly a sin," she said provocatively and Mycroft gave her humble smile.

"I was looking for you with Franco and now I want to kidnap your John. If you're with it okay ..."

"I do not mind. I am glad I can count on you, Francesca" Mycroft bowed slightly and putting his hand on John's lower back, led him gently into her arms. Francesca grabbed John by the elbow and clung to his arm. She felt completely comfortable.

After a moment, Franco stood next to Mycroft started to speak Italian with him. John realized that, yes, he was pleased with Francesca's presence, but he lacked the attention of his fake husband, which was not only incomprehensible but even disturbing.

"Our boys have a business with the others. I want show you the view from the terrace, John, and then we go to the city," Francesca said cheerfully gripping John's arm. He smiled at her, then took one last look at Mycroft, who spoke with Franco, but he was looking at John out of the corner of his eye.

"John, it looks like we won't be seeing each other until evening," he said.

"Oh! Then I'll take John and we'll have dinner together," Francesca exclaimed with satisfaction. John didn't answer, just nodded. He said goodbye and started walking up the stairs with her. He didn't even have time to reach the second step when he heard his husband's voice behind his back.

"John ..."

He stopped and turned to Mycroft. The older man walked proudly and set his foot on the first step of stairs. John was too shocked. He didn't even notice when his pretended husband very gently grabbed his chin and joined their lips without warning.

Despite the confusion, he felt the soft touch of the other man's lips and the tip of the nose that brushed his skin. Mycroft was not violent. He was confident and gentle. He warmed John's lower lip between his owns. 

When Mycroft started to suck his sensitive lips, John shuddered imperceptibly and let out a quiet grunt of pleasure. John was afraid to open his eyes. The fingers on his chin were warm, but with each passing moment, their touch disappeared more and more. After a few moments, he opened his eyes. His cheeks were red, and his breathing was shaky and irregular. He could still feel Mycroft's face in front of him and after a moment he saw faint blush covering Mycroft's skin not only on his cheeks. The older man's neck was red and his eyes were slightly blurry.

He lost track of time. He didn't know if their kiss lasted a second or ten minutes. The only thing in his head was the thought he had just kissed one of the most influential and dangerous people in England. He kissed Mycroft. His best friend's brother. John shivered again. And it was because of excitement and disbelief, not fear.

Mycroft accidentally blew hot air into John's wet mouth. He released his face, straightened, and refrained from clearing his throat at the last moment. He looked at his surprised eyes. He finally raised John's hand and kissed gently his fingers.

John never took his eyes from him. Even when Mycroft took two steps back and joined Franco. They go deeper into the hall when the older man turned his head. Their eyes met again before Mycroft disappeared behind the marble wall.

John stood for a few seconds without saying a word. His heart was beating incredibly fast. Mycroft's scent was still in the air. When he finally turned to Francesca, she was standing two steps higher.

She was looking at John and couldn't hide her smile. "He care so much for you, John ..." she said softly and gently touched John's face. His parted lips were hot and wet. She gently put her thumb on John's lower lip and wiped the residue of Mycroft's saliva.

\---

John didn't see Mycroft for the rest of the day. For a moment he even wondered if the man was acting like that because of their kiss in the morning. Mycroft was a distant man, but pretending to be married had some influence on him. John had proof that even a simple kiss affected him. Blushes, trembling lips, and hazy eyes were proofs of Mycroft's normality.

But he was alone now. He lay on the big bed and in the dark room, he wondered what had happened that Mycroft had not come to the apartment yet. John thought about the reasons and he did not notice when he fell asleep.

He was awake by quietly tapping sound. He turned his head and saw a light like the night before. He had no idea what time it was but was sure that all normal people were asleep already. He got out of bed with a heavy sigh and quietly opened the door.

He saw the same view as twenty-four hours earlier. Mycroft was sitting in front of the laptop, and the bedding was prepared on the couch. However, this time something was wrong. Mycroft was ... different. It took a few seconds for John to realize that his husband wasn't wearing a suit, just a plain shirt, and sweatpants. This sight surprised him so much that he stood in the door without moving. Mycroft looked in his direction but didn't say a word. He returned to work on a laptop.

"Mycroft, it's almost four in the morning ..." he said, stepping up to his husband with crossed arms. He leaned his back against the window and stared at Mycroft's pale face lightened by the laptop screen. The older man sighed theatrically. John immediately thought of his best friend, who also expressed his annoyance in this way.

"Excellent, John. As I see, regardless of the time of day, your observation senses are magnificent ..."

John knew that tone. He had lived with Sherlock for too many years and he was sure that something must have upset Mycroft because he rarely behaved in such a depressing way. However, this did not discourage him. He was motivated to talk to him longer.

"I don't want to grumble, Mycroft. After all, you're an adult guy and you're responsible for your health..."

"Exactly, John. I'm glad we agreed," with these words, Mycroft returned to tapping his fingers on the laptop keyboard. He didn't care about John's words and didn't pay attention to him. At least he tried.

"... but I did the same with your brother. And believe me, although he wasn't very happy at the beginning, he is a healthier man now."

"Thank you for your concern, John. I really appreciate it, but I have a private doctor. I don't expect any diagnosis or recommendations from you ..." Mycroft looked at his husband, who was still adamant and stared at him with frowns. The older man finally sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"It is nothing important, John. Go back to bed. I promise I will finish this document and go to sleep too..."

"Nothing important?" asked John. "Then leave it now," he added and shut down Mycroft's laptop. The room went dark. Both men froze and, despite the silence, John could hear the blood pulsing in his head. After a moment, the older man sighed and opened his laptop. He stared at John's eyes with a mixture of provocation and indifference, waiting for his reaction.

"I'll be done in a moment, John. I need a few more minutes to..." Mycroft could not finish his sentence. He watched as John placed his finger on the power button of the laptop with a firm and sophisticated movement. The room went dark once again. John could feel the other man's eyes on him, but he wasn't afraid. He had to admit playing with the Holmes brothers - especially the older one - was very stimulating.

"All right". Mycroft's voice spread across the room. He wasn't mad. He was surprised. As if he didn't believe that someone could do such a thing to him. He got up from the chair and was about to approach the couch when he saw John's figure lighted by light from outside the windows. His husband stood upright and pointed his finger towards the bedroom.

"We're going to sleep, Mycroft," he said calmly. However, the older man sensed army remnants in his voice. John had to use this tone to give orders. 

Mycroft didn't move because he wasn't sure he understood it correctly. "Excuse me?" he asked incredulously.

"Enough of this, Mycroft. We have a large bed. Don't act like a princess. Put away your ridiculous pride and let's go to sleep."

Mycroft could not believe his ears. He didn't even know how to react or respond.

John walked around him, put hands on his shoulders, and took him firmly to the bedroom. "Lie down and sleep," he said, walking around the bed and pointing at the free half. He took his part of the mattress and turned off the light. He didn't look back at Mycroft. He didn't know what the older man would do. Mycroft had to be shocked because he did not move for a while and made no sound. It wasn't until after a few minutes that the mattress on the other side gently buckled under the weight of an older man. John smiled lightly and wondered how Sherlock would react if he found out that his best friend kissed and slept in one bed with his brother in one day.


	8. Chapter 8

John wasn't sleeping that night. He couldn't find a comfortable position. Something disturbed him falling asleep. Maybe it was because of sultry weather? They were in Venice, in a hotel surrounded by water, and yet the heat was unbelievably unpleasant that night. There was also a second - more likely - reason for his insomnia ...

John turned his head and, saw the reason for the lack of his sleep. Mycroft. The man lay next to him, looking exhausted. His chest slowly lifted and fell. The morning light burst into the room through the thin curtains and lighted Mycroft's calm face. His aquiline nose, short eyelashes, and thinning hair. He looked so calm and John could barely take his eyes off him. The awareness that he lay next to such an influential person was almost beyond his strength. He smiled slightly under his breath and shook his head.

It was too warm and muggy. There was no point in forcing his body to sleep any longer, so John gently and carefully got out of bed. He did not want to wake up his husband because he knew that the last days on the couch were very difficult for him and now he finally had a chance to sleep well. As he stood up, he watched the other man's reaction, but he slept soundly. John left the bedroom and silently closed the door behind him. He was able to take a deep breath now.

The room was lit by the orange morning light, the curtains waved slightly. John could hear his own breathing and his footsteps as he went to the window. The first rays of the sun warmed his face. He closed his eyes and stretched. Despite the many doubts he has before arriving in Venice, everything was going according to plan. Maybe it was even better than he had hoped. He didn't feel suppressed when he talked to important personalities, he felt confident in various situations and more importantly, he got along with Mycroft. That was what he worried about the most when he agreed to this strange plan.

Mycroft always seemed extremely distant and cold. He seemed like a person who came to life with a cool head, who was not guided by emotions and rejected all feelings. Meanwhile, Mycroft - under the mask he wore every day - turned out to be a normal person with his habits, weaknesses, and needs. Just like now...

John's thoughts were interrupted by Mycroft's cell phone, which started to ring and vibrate on the desk next to the closed laptop. John frowned and walked quickly to the table because the sound seemed terribly loud in this quiet and still dark room. He never intended to investigate what his fake husband was doing, but he picked up the phone and rejected the call.

Mycroft finally had the opportunity to sleep off those few days, and John as a doctor and... maybe not the best, but still friend, wanted to let him do it at all costs. He was not interested in anything other than Mycroft's health at the moment, so without any regret, he hung up again when the obtrusive caller rang again. Still holding the phone in his hand, he waited for the third call, but this time the phone was silent.

John hoped that the loud bell did not wake Mycroft, so he strained his ears. To his relief, he heard no sound indicating that the older man had woken up. John put down the phone and looked around the room. It was only now that he had the opportunity to see what he was missing when Mycroft slept on the couch in the living room. Usually, when John woke up and left the bedroom, he could no longer see the small suitcase next to the table. He could not see piles of paper, a phone charger or even an elegant sachet with a brush and comb. Every morning, Mycroft covered all traces that would indicate that he was also a man with needs.

Another call irritated John. He went to the table, grabbed the cell phone with a swing and rejected the call again. For some unbelievable reason, Mycroft's phone didn't have a lock screen password, so John sniffed his chance. He chose the message option and wrote the message as soon as he could.

_Bugger off! I am sleeping!_

He sent a message. The moment he did it, he realized he shouldn't do it. He didn't even know who this person was or what it was about ... But on the other hand, if it was that important, one of Mycroft's bodyguards, or Franco Coletti, would inform them. John shrugged and put the phone down. He wanted to take a shower, so he headed back to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he involuntarily walked to the bed. The sight of Mycroft made him unable to resist. He grabbed his phone and quietly approached the sleeping man.

Mycroft looked so ... innocent. He slept blissfully. He almost looked like a child with his hands at head height and his lips slightly open. He was lying almost across his mattress with his legs bare. John covered his mouth with his hand and tried to keep from laughing. He held the phone in the other and took a picture of his husband. He wanted to send it to Sherlock, but after a short reflection, he didn't. Why would he send a picture of a sleeping Mycroft to his friend? John preferred not to risk because Sherlock could not only deduce something incorrectly but also be seriously offended.

After a moment, John calmed down and looked at Mycroft. He was glad that his husband could sleep well that night. He didn't mind sharing a single bed with him, but they were still waiting for the change of apartment, so he doubted that Mycroft would decide to show such weakness like this night again. With a soft sigh, John grabbed clean clothes and entered the bathroom.

\---

The tepid water was very pleasant to his skin. John stood with his eyes closed and let his mind wander. He didn't know what time it was and he wasn't interested in it too much. He wanted to relax. When he opened his eyes he saw a bottle of expensive gel. It belonged to Mycroft. Genius always hid his things, but not this time. John's hand reached for the bottle. He opened it and put the gel under his nose.

He was immediately surrounded by Mycroft's smell. A delicate and pleasant aroma that strangely suited him a lot. John was getting to know more and more things about him and he loved it. He was so focused on the bottle he didn't even hear the crackling, quick steps, and equally fast knocking on the door. Before he knew it, the other man had already entered the bathroom.

John uncovered slightly the shower curtain and looked at his husband. Mycroft was still wearing his pajamas. He looked annoyed and a little exhausted. He had red cheeks and sleepy hair. He was holding his cell phone. It took a few seconds for him to realize that he was standing in the bathroom with naked John in the shower. But he didn't show much emotion on his face. John could see that the man wasn't in the best mood.

"John, tell me please if you heard the phone ringing, why didn't you wake me up?" he said in his normal proud tone. However, John heard reproach and irritation in his voice.

"I wanted you to rest. It was still very early ..."

"For God's sake, John ..." Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes in resignation. "Why did you... And this message ... are you aware of who you were told to bugger off?" he asked a little calmer.

"It doesn't matter ... I'm a doctor, remember? The most important thing for me is the health of other people. And besides, getting you out of bed at six in the morning - I dare say that every morning - is just cruel ..."

"It was an adviser to the President of the United States" Mycroft interrupted him and crossed his arms over his chest. He waited for John's reaction, but he only stared at him for a moment, then hid behind the shower curtain with a slight smile on his face.

"Well, then you have a problem, Mycroft ... But I won't change my mind anyway," he said, trying to hide his amusement.

"Oh really?" asked the older man. John knew that tone. He could bet his husband was smiling in this mean and artificial way just like when he usually used sarcasm.

"Then I wonder how you will explain it to him ..."

John leaned out behind the curtain again. "I won't even try. It's your phone, after all..."

Genius was angry, or at least irritated. He tightly pressed his lips together, lowered his hands, and turned to the door. "I'm leaving. I'm late already ...".

John knew the hidden meaning was 'It's your fault, John. We'll talk about it later. ' He watched the older man leave the bathroom. He wanted to ask about breakfast, but he gave it up. This question didn't make sense anyway, because he knew Mycroft wasn't going to stay in the apartment any longer. It wasn't even five minutes later he heard the main door close.

After taking a shower and having breakfast in the living room, John wondered what to do that day. Visiting the city was not an option, because the morning was unbelievably hot, so he did not even want to imagine how it would be in the afternoon. He hoped Francesca would have time for him. Only she made his stay in Venice pleasant and he felt very comfortable with her. He loved Francesca's company and almost regretted not knowing her a dozen years earlier.

He looked around the apartment. Mycroft had to hurry up. Things in his open bag were strewn around, the papers he was browsing were above and below the table. John would give a lot if he could see his husband putting on his suit and shoes in a hurry. He smiled when he imagined it. At one point John's phone started ringing. He answered it and was surprised when he heard Mycroft's voice.

"John, please ... I forgot about the very important documents because of this rush. Could you bring them to me? I would be extremely grateful to you..."

"And where are you?"

After noting the address and finding specific files with documents, John immediately went to the building, which was quite close to their hotel. When he left the apartment, he was hit by incredible heat. His face immediately felt wet, even though he was still in the hotel where the air conditioning was working. He wondered if Mycroft really could or would not want to go back to the documents. Every option seemed likely to John. However, he could not disappoint Mycroft, he did not want to.

He was standing in front of the hotel. He could choose how to get to Mycroft. He could get to the gondola or walk through the narrow streets. As he considered the choice, he felt someone's breath in his ear.

"Hello, John."

He jumped up a bit scared and turned his head. Aaron Stoner was standing next to him with a sly smile on his face. His body clung to John, and his lips almost brushed his hair. John cleared his throat and took a step to the side.

"Good morning, Mr. Stoner."

"Oh, let's not be so formal, John. We have known each other for some time now ..." he said with a smile.

"Why aren't you at the meeting?"

"These conferences bore me. They are always the same ... But what about you? Are you going somewhere?" he asked, pointing to the documents in John's hand.

"Mycroft forgot these files. He asked me to brought it to him," John replied. He started looking for the gondola because he wanted to free himself from Aaron as soon as possible.

"I will accompany you then!" Stoner exclaimed with strange excitement and contentment. John was about to get the idea out of his mind, but Aaron took the documents from his hands and almost forcibly led him to the empty gondola that had just reached the shore.

John had no intention of being alone with him all the more in the middle of the canal, so he took the files from his hand and walked towards the crowded street. "No, thank you. I already know the city and I can handle it myself. Don't worry about me" with these words he started to squeeze through the crowd of tourists. He was sure Mycroft had chosen the water transport to get to the meeting point. His husband sometimes behaved as if he was allergic to people and their stupidity. John almost moaned irritably when Aaron appeared at his side and grabbed his elbow.

"I can't let you walk around the city by yourself, John. I'd go crazy with worrying if you got there safe and sound ..." he said near his ear. Not too loud, but John understood him despite the loud noise surrounding them. John frowned because he didn't like the context of the conversation. He walked forward and didn't care about Aaron, who never stepped away from his side and mumbled something next to his head. John didn't know if he was lost in his thoughts or focused on the goal, but before he knew it, he was already standing in front of the building where Mycroft was waiting for him. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped inside the hotel without waiting for Aaron's reaction.

The interior was not as elegant as in the Danieli Hotel but it was cozy and large. The very idea that he would have to look for Mycroft in this huge building made John feel his strength moving away from him. He was about to approach the man with the plaque and try to talk to him, when he saw Mycroft out of the corner of his eye, coming out of the large hall behind the hall. He smiled and walked over to him. Mycroft saw him too. He didn't seem as annoyed as in the morning. When the doctor was halfway up, Mycroft's face became serious. John had no idea what had happened.

"I brought you these documents, Mycroft. I hope they are the ones you were talking about," John said with small confusion in his voice. He handed the file to an older man and ... what Mycroft did, shocked him as much as for the first time. Mycroft took the documents and raised John's chin with the other hand. He came closer, then bowed his head and kissed the shorter man. John shuddered but kissed him back. It was a short and pure kiss. It meant they were being watched. When they pulled away, John looked into Mycroft's eyes and heard a quiet grunt next to him.

"So I see you decided to come and join us," Mycroft said, looking at Aaron.

There was a slight surprise on the other man's face, which was replaced almost immediately by that nasty smile that made John shiver. "I do not intend to attend this meeting ... I will learn the most important things from my people."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked at John again.

"Go to the apartment, John. Today it's too hot for anything..."

"Mycroft, it's time," the older man interrupted him. He appeared in the doorway. He was waiting for Holmes and hurried him with a wave of his hand. Mycroft bowed slightly and returned to the meeting.

John sighed quietly, gave Stoner one last look and turned to leave.

"Are you going to leave me like this?" Aaron asked.

"I'm going back to the hotel ... And you should join the others. It's your duty after all," he murmured. But the man did not give up. He finally had his chance and did not intend to waste it. He grabbed John by the elbow and pulled him with a smile in the opposite direction.

"I have the perfect opportunity to get to know Mycroft's beloved one. You will do me the honor and spend this afternoon with me? You are not afraid of me, are you?" he asked and raised his eyebrow provocatively. John had no other choice. He didn't like the idea of spending time with Aaron, but he didn't want to show he had something to hide. He clenched his teeth, cursed Mycroft in his thoughts, and followed Aaron Stoner deep into the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small note - from now on each chapter will be longer (now it's about 2,500 words but the last chapters have over 10,000 words). The translation will take me more time for sure, but I will try to update it regularly. Thank you very much for your support and your comments, guys!


	9. Chapter 9

John felt a large drop of sweat on his back. The drop started to flow from the back of the neck, passed through the middle of the back and was absorbed in the place where his shirt merged with trousers. His whole body was unpleasantly wet, but it was this drop that completed his frustration. He felt hot, his legs slowly ached from new and not very comfortable shoes. He would give anything to sit somewhere in a cool place or take another bath. However, he was at the mercy of Aaron at the moment who was dragging him through the streets of Venice.

Aaron Stoner. A mysterious man. For some unknown reason, he caused shivers and unpleasant thoughts. John didn't trust him from the beginning, though Aaron didn't do anything inappropriate to him. On the contrary. He was smiling at John, he was friendly and never made an uncomfortable or unpleasant comment. But John didn't like him much. He knew that somewhere inside, Aaron was hiding his true face.

John didn't know why he didn't protest when Stoner pulled him out of the hotel and led him into the city. He felt like a child, guided by a parent's hand. It was like he had nothing to say. He would love to get away and return to the Danieli Hotel, but the firm grip on his hand and the closeness of the man were so overwhelming and irresistible that he could not do it. Aaron looked pleased with the current situation. He wiped his forehead with an elegant handkerchief and did not stop even for a moment.

"Mr. Stoner..." John said, attracting his attention.

"John, please, call me by my name. I have asked you so many times," Aaron replied. 

John sighed helplessly. He gathered his strength and froze in place, forcing the other man to stop. He stood in the shadow, so he could hide from the sun at least a moment.

"Then ... Aaron ... where are we going?"

"I wanted to show you this city, John. I was going to do it sooner, but Mycroft watches over you and doesn't let me be near you. I finally have the perfect opportunity to get to know you a little better," he added with an almost sweet smile, staring at the eyes of a shorter man. John was about to answer when suddenly Aaron looked up and stared at something behind John's back, then he pursed his lips, chuckled and shook his head.

"He is impossible ..." he muttered under his breath. John wanted to turn around and see what had happened, but Stoner pulled his hand and walked ahead, trying to squeeze through the crowds of tourists.

John followed Stoner and focused on what surrounded them. Otherwise, he would fly into a rage in the middle of the street and embarrass himself and all the people around him.

They were walking among the crowd of people. Some of them were tourists, others were residents. They could hear languages from around the world and smell perfumes of many people - rich and poorer ones. There were scents of delicious dishes from nearby cafes. The musicians stood under the restaurants and played enjoyable Italian melodies.

Aaron's wet hand gripped John's more and more and pulled him into narrower streets. Sometimes his movements were so sudden, causing John to lose his balance. The man looked as if he was looking for an escape or was being followed. He looked back. John saw no anxiety on his face, but strange excitement and something like ... pleasure? At one point, John had had enough. He pulled his arm free and sighed loudly, crossing his arms.

"For God's sake! Could you please..."

"How about dinner, John? I wanted to take you to a place where we could talk and eat quietly, but I see we can't do it without Mycroft's people. It seems he's really worried about you. I didn't think he would decide to hire so many people to follow us ... " Aaron nodded at the crowd with a smile. John frowned because he didn't see anything suspicious, but he took a sigh of relief knowing he wasn't with Stoner alone. He thanked his husband silently.

"To be honest, I'd rather go back to the hotel. It's too hot and I'm not hungry," John said in a resigned tone. He lowered his eyes and immediately sensed the presence of another man above him. When he looked at Aaron, a shiver went down his back. Stoner was smiling strangely, and his body was definitely too close.

"Then let's go to the cafe around the corner, and after that, I'll personally walk you to your apartment," he said softly, almost hanging over John. Seeing hesitation in John's eyes, he put his hand on his lower back and led him past the large building. John saw a huge square with lots of cafes, tables, chairs and a bunch of people.

St. Mark's Square. John realized he was really close to Danieli Hotel. He had no idea they had been in this part of Venice all this time. He was happy because he knew the area and he felt much more confident now. Aaron led him to a free table in the shadow of a large building. John sank into a chair and straightened his aching legs in relief.

"What can I get you?" the waitress asked in English. She appeared so unbelievably quickly and John almost jumped in surprise.

"Due bicchieri di acqua, per favore," Aaron said, not waiting for John's reaction. The woman did not even save the order. She bowed slightly and walked away. John didn't realize he was watching her. His attention was caught by Aaron's amused voice.

"A beautiful day, John. My only regret is that it is so hot. Otherwise, I would show you the whole city. But I can tell you a little about it now ..." saying this, he leaned over the table and pointed at something on John's side.

"This is the Doge's Palace, it was the seat of all the rulers of this city. Behind this building we will see the Ponte dei Sospiri, the so-called Bridge of Sighs. Probably the most famous bridge in the world ..."

"Yes, I know. Francesca showed me this part of the city. We were here ..." John paused for a moment and looked at the waitress who placed two glasses of water in front of them.

"... Grazie, signora," he added and looked at Stoner again. Aaron never took his eyes off him, just watched him with that gleam in his eyes and an insolent smile on his face. "Francesca and I have been here recently. She is a wonderful woman and I am not surprised even Mycroft likes her," he said, then reached for one of the glasses.

They sat in silence for a moment. John felt Stoner's eyes on him, but he didn't look at him. He really wanted to go back to the hotel and talk to someone friendly. But now he had to survive the tense atmosphere that was between him and Aaron. Despite the cheerful conversations and laughter around, John heard his heart beating and felt the burning eyes of the other man who was sitting opposite, leaning his hands on the table. His eyes stared at John as if he wanted to reach deep into his soul.

"You don't trust me ..." Aaron said with confidence in his voice.

"I don't like you," John added immediately. As if he wanted to be sure that the man would understand his words. He looked up and took a sip of water. Stoner looked somewhat surprised but amused by John's sincere reply. He blinked quickly and wondered what to say. John sensed his chance.

"Your behavior seemed strange to me from the beginning. It's like you're competing with Mycroft and trying to crush him. I know you have a plan, but I have no idea what are you trying to do. I don't like having you clung to me like that. And I do not like the fact you're trying to come between me and Mycroft. Your behavior is suspicious. Don't get me wrong ... I wouldn't mind if you were an ordinary asshole. But you're fake and you can't be trusted. I don't like people like you and I don't want to have anything to do with you... "

Aaron didn't look offended. He sat and stared at John with a funny expression. John could have sworn the man was barely able to restrain from laughing. After a moment, Stoner grinned and looked at John's body. He kept his eyes on his hard gaze and chuckled. The sound was annoying to John, though Aaron's voice was always pleasant and kind. It was one of the few things John liked in Stoner.

"People like us, John ... I'm talking about Mycroft and me... we live and we live a little differently than ordinary people. When I met him a few years ago, I thought it would be a great opportunity to make these conferences a little more pleasant. Mycroft ... he was always extremely intelligent and conversations with him were a pure pleasure for me. We were the same, we had the same priorities and attitude to ... human weaknesses and behaviors. Therefore, when it turned out that Mycroft had someone he loved, this news was a huge shock for me. I did not think that someone like him could give in to feelings and emotions. He was always above it, at least I thought so. But ... it turned out he was not as strong as I thought at the beginning ... That's why I wanted to meet you. You, Mycroft's weakness. The person for whom he abandoned his resolutions and he showed his weakness. The person he fell in love with... "

John just looked down to smile and shake his head. Finally, he looked at Aaron with a slight disappointment. So many years with Sherlock and something that finally came in handy was the experience he acquired through living with a genius.

"It's just like I thought. You're a double-faced snake, but you don't lack cowardice too," he said and surprised Aaron.

"Yes, you are a coward. At least compared to Mycroft. Do you know why I think so? Because unlike my husband, you are afraid to face your feelings. You are afraid it will take control over you and you will start to care. Mycroft allowed it, he connected his intelligence with emotions. He allowed himself to love me. I know a little bit about the minds of geniuses ... I'm not saying that I know their thoughts, but I know how they work. Believe me, this kind of mixture is incredibly exciting and dangerous. Connecting love and cold approaches to other things. Being with me, Mycroft got to know things he didn't know existed. Every day is like an exciting fight for him, but I doubt he regrets it. Mycroft took this risk and fell in love ... You would not be able to do it because you are too afraid of feelings and love ...

Aaron sat speechlessly and stared at John's flush. He wasn't red because of the heat, but the emotions that took control over him. John's blue eyes, his commitment in pointing out his mistakes and cowardice were too appealing. Stoner didn't wait long, still staring at the other man, raised John's hand and brought it closer to his lips. John was probably too distracted because he didn't even try to break free. Fortunately, someone interrupted them at the last moment. He was a tall black man sitting at the next table, who, seeing the whole situation, decided to act. He stood next to John and Aaron, forcing the latter to look up.

"Mr. Watson... Mr. Holmes told me to escort you to the hotel," he said in a thick voice, not even glancing at Aaron. John sighed with relief. He pulled his hand free of Stoner's grip, got up from the chair and walked with the black man to the hotel.

\---

John was playing with the ring on his finger. Although maybe the word 'playing' was not accurate. He tried to turn the ring around its axis, but his fingers were swollen, just like his feet. His phone made a noise, but he never once looked at it. He didn't feel well and didn't want to read messages from Sherlock who was angry with him for not answering since the morning. Sherlock had the right to be angry because John had forgotten the phone and only after returning to the hotel he did realize his friend had unsuccessfully sought his attention.

"John, are you all right?" Mycroft asked, taking a last sip of water. Their dinner was almost over, and although they were sitting on the small terrace in their apartment, John still couldn't enjoy the pleasant chill coming in from the water. The sun had set an hour earlier, and his damp skin was resting on the gentle wind.

"Yes, it's just ... I have dreamed about this moment since the morning."

Mycroft smiled and wiped his mouth with a napkin and poured some whiskey into the glasses. It was a tiring day for both of them and they decided to relax with a bit of alcohol. Happily, Mycroft regained a good mood after the morning discussion. It turned out that John's message from his phone didn't do much damage. What's more, the president's advisor, to whom the text was addressed, accepted it with amusement. He invited both Mycroft and John, but they preferred to reschedule the meeting. They decided to spend the night peacefully in their apartment.

"I thought about taking you to my favorite restaurant tomorrow evening. I hope you don't mind," Mycroft asked, getting up from his chair and coming to the balustrade on the terrace. A slight wind moved his hair. He closed his eyes and took a sip of whiskey.

"I don't mind as long as we will not meet Stoner there..."

John could see the cogitation on Mycroft's face. He grabbed his glass and joined him, leaning against the balustrade. They both watched passing motorboats and gondolas. They heard conversations coming from people who enjoyed the nightlife. It was calm. The silence was broken only by John's phone, which vibrated on the table. Both men had already learned to ignore Sherlock's impatience and did not even pay attention to what time he could show them his bad mood.

"You should answer, John. He may be offended otherwise," Mycroft said cheerfully, which caught the other man's attention. John looked at him and leaned his back against the balustrade.

"Is he angry with you? I haven't seen you get a message from him in a long time ..."

"Sherlock is incredibly stubborn and proud. Seeing that his behavior doesn't impress me, he decided to focus all of his attention on you to draw your concern. You are his friend and ... Oh, John, you couldn't have chosen a more stubborn friend."

Mycroft's good humor intrigued John more and more. John liked when Mycroft was showing him his other side. He wanted to know more, but he had no idea why.

"You helped me today and you did a great job with Stoner. To be honest, I didn't expect you to do so well. I will admit it with reluctance but I will probably have to trust you more and give you a little more freedom."

John frowned. He wasn't angry, but Mycroft's words sounded as if he had kept him at bay and controlled his every move so far. Well ... John should have expected that. He saw Mycroft take the last great sip of alcohol, turned to the table, poured some more whiskey and returned to him. They drank a little more than usual that evening and John was slowly starting to feel the effects of it. He set down his glass and looked at the other man. He was surprised when it turned out that Mycroft had been watching him for a long time now.

"Sherlock will be furious if he finds out..." Mycroft said in a whisper. His words sounded strange as if he were talking to himself.

"Oh yes. Sherlock is angry, he wrote to me about it ..." John said with a smile, ignoring the strange behavior of the other man. "... He even threatened me. Indirectly, but ... Besides, I feel he must be terribly bored. Poor Mrs. Hudson, she probably ..."

John was silenced by Mycroft, who kissed him out of the blue. It would not be surprising, but no one could see them. They were in their apartment on the first floor of the hotel. It was a dark night and only a madman with binoculars could see them. The whole situation was strange, but it got even stranger when John felt Mycroft's tongue. Genius caressed his lips and gently tried to get inside his mouth.

John was so surprised that he parted his lips slightly and then Mycroft decided to act. He grasped John's face with his hand, moved his body in front of him, almost pressing his body against the balustrade, and stuck his tongue inside John's mouth. John shivered and groaned. He did not expect such behavior and did not know what to do. For a bit of control, he grabbed the other man's forearms and clenched his fingers tightly.

He let Mycroft direct him. Genius gently wandered around John's mouth, teeth. He rubbed his tongue with John's. He sucked his lips and swallowed every sigh. The kiss grew stronger. The older man seemed to want to devour John, drain every bit of him. Blowing the air in the blonde's mouth, he made the shorter man shiver.

At one point, Mycroft's phone rang, breaking their kiss. They froze in place and after a while, they broke apart without looking into each other's eyes. Mycroft cleared his throat and grabbed his cell phone.

"It's Sherlock ..." he said hoarsely and looked at John. "... I think his patience is over."

"Answer, Mycroft. I prefer not to risk it. He is probably furious," John tried to control his voice. _You always know when to call, Sherlock_. He wondered how his friend did it. He always could choose the right moment, which was starting to frighten John. Sherlock had to be extremely enraged because instead of writing, he called. He called his brother. And he hated doing it. John gave Mycroft one last look and walked toward the bedroom.

"I'm going to sleep," he said quietly. The older man nodded and answered the phone.

While Mycroft had a serious conversation with Sherlock, John fell asleep so quickly that he didn't even realize it. He just put the phone down on the table, fell on the bed, covered himself with the sheets and closed his eyes. He didn't think about Sherlock being mad, he didn't think about Mycroft and other problems. He didn't even wonder where his fake husband would spend the night. In the living room or bedroom? Nothing mattered to him when he went to bed. The only thing counted was that he could straighten up and wear out the body in a soft mattress and on a fluffy pillow.

He was awakened by the sounds of a soft knocking on the keyboard. He saw nothing but the light behind his back, which was reflected on the bedroom wall. He realized it was Mycroft. The man took the opportunity and decided to abandon the narrow sofa for a large bed. Of course, he took his job with him because it was most important to him. John wasn't even surprised. Every genius he knew valued his work above all else. The worst of them all was Sherlock.

That's right, Sherlock ... John's phone sounded in the bedroom on demand. His friend's name was displayed, and the loud melody cut through the silence. John didn't want to talk, but he had to at least mute his cell phone. He was about to force himself to reach for it when the mattress behind him fell under Mycroft's weight. The genius leaned over John, grabbed his phone and turned it off, as John had done the previous night.

The sight of Mycroft, hanging over him in a plain T-shirt and with slightly tousled hair, was so unusual that John could not resist and started to stare at him. Mycroft probably felt his husband was awake because after turning off the phone he looked down and met John's eyes. They stared at each other for a long time in complete silence. Finally, the older man, without taking his eyes off, left the phone and put his hand next to John's shoulder. At that moment, John felt the familiar lips for the third time that day.


	10. Chapter 10

_I can't remember when I felt the same as that night. Excitement, lust, and uncertainty confused my mind. My body trembled but at the same time, I wanted to melt under Mycroft's touch. His smell was overwhelming. His delicate scent surrounded me. I felt it more strongly when Mycroft kissed me and rubbed his cheek against my skin. He breathed loudly through his nose but didn't even try to tear himself away from my lips. It was as if he was afraid to interrupt what he was doing._

_His tongue found its way to my lips and teeth so naturally. I had the impression he had kissed me for years. I told myself 'it's because of alcohol', I didn't defend myself and I wanted more. I couldn't stop my whining. Mycroft absorbed each of my snuffles. He pressed harder his body to mine and stopped his movements for a moment as soon as he heard my groan. Only after some time, I realized he was lying on me with all his weight, so I sank my fingers into his ginger hair. They were soft and thin. They didn't suit his character at all._

_I didn't know what was happening around me. I had my eyes closed and even if I wanted to open them, I couldn't do it. The pleasure Mycroft's kisses gave me was too great. I felt and heard my heart beating. Or was it the sound of his heart? Nothing was important because Mycroft devoured me with his lips. He clung to me, I couldn't move. Even my head was immobilized by his passionate and possessive kisses. His movements were too fast for my distracted mind. He caressed my tongue, lips and everything else._

_Suddenly I saw a short light. What could it be? Someone came into the room and turned on the light? It was the sound of his phone ringing ... Sherlock. He was trying to contact one of us again. This time with Mycroft. But besides the phone, I heard a strange snarl as if it were some wild animal. Mycroft pulled his mouth away from me, but not for long because he immediately sucked on my neck. I felt another move and the phone stopped ringing. Mycroft's hand came back to me, specifically to my hand, which I don't know why tried to push him away. He pressed my hand to the mattress next to my head and stuck his teeth into my neck._

_I made the most embarrassing sound in my life. Something like a squeak and begging for more. When Mycroft bit my sensitive skin, I automatically spread my legs, like a shameless harlot. I hated myself for that. It was humiliating ... But I was lying with my eyes closed and trying to rub against Mycroft's body. He used this opportunity to lie between my open thighs. I felt a bulge in his pants. God ... the smartest guy I've ever known kept me immobilized under him and at his grace. He licked the wound he made with his teeth and blew hot air on my skin._

_At one point, he slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband of my pants. He massaged my hip bone and listened as I let out more and louder and deeper breaths. He ripped off my trouser leg with one move. I felt the chill that blew over my bare thigh and hip. I shivered. But it wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't want Mycroft to dominate me in bed, so when he ran his hand over my stomach, I gathered all my strength and threw him on his back. I sat down on him and opened my eyes._

_The sight of his surprised face will probably stay with me for the rest of my life. He stopped being so rough and possessive. He looked at me with hazy eyes. His hair was messy and his mouth was wet with saliva. He breathed deeply and gently put his hands on my waist. He sat leaning on the head of the bed. I stared at him and couldn't believe what we were doing. I wanted to feel his lips again. He probably too, because he looked at my lips and shuddered. We rushed at each other, crushing our bodies in a passionate kiss. Lust was written in every move we made. Mycroft wrapped his arms around me tightly, and I sank my fingers into his hair again._

_I felt him rub against my body. It wasn't the same Mycroft I met in an abandoned parking lot, but I supposed he still didn't show me everything. As if he was afraid to open so completely and show his true nature. I would give anything to let him say my name at least once, but he would not even let me hear his sigh and the sound of desire. He kissed me and kissed me as if his life depended on it._

_I had to take a breath. His lips were too obtrusive and didn't give me enough space. I forcibly pulled away from him and I could have sworn I saw anger in his eyes. But I did not free myself from him because he embraced me stronger. He started to caress my cheek with his free hand. After a while, I felt two long fingers in my throat. They pressed my tongue and forced me to play this erotic game. I caressed and sucked his fingers, and he watched me with lust in his eyes. He did not control himself and stared at my movements with open mouth. I didn't see him because the room was dark, but I could bet his face was unnaturally red. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, still sucking his fingers._

_It didn't take long before I missed his kisses again. I leaned down and felt his fingers and tongue pass in my mouth. His warm tongue caressed me like no other I had ever known. I have put my arm around Mycroft's neck and let loose groans deep into his throat. I knew he liked it. Suddenly those wet fingers that I sucked a moment ago started to rub my sensitive place. I hissed and tensed, but Mycroft's calming moves allowed me to take control of this situation. I slowly relaxed my body and let him caress my spot._

_I trembled and felt, he could barely control his reactions too. I loved it because I had proof that Mycroft was also an ordinary person and also could felt pleasure. His first finger sank into me without a problem. After a few moves, he added a second one. I knew that feeling. I did such things in the army. This was no reason to be proud of, but I knew the touch of another man._

_Mycroft's long fingers found my prostate. He caressed this spot from time to time. I rolled my eyes in pleasure in those moments. I tried to suppress the most embarrassing sounds, but most of them were eaten by Mycroft's kisses. His fingers came in and out, and I was going crazy. It was too much and too little at the same time. I wanted to have Mycroft. I felt that I was already stretched enough, so I took my hand off my husband's face and reached behind me._

_The first word that came to my mind? Christ ... Mycroft was bigger than I thought. When I touched his penis, I could hardly believe that this 'thing' would be inside me right away. Mycroft groaned loudly once more, took his fingers out of me and tried to calm my movements. He gently grabbed my hand. His kisses became sweet and almost innocent. After a while, he helped me choose the right angle. I felt him inside me. Mycroft gently massaged my back. I gripped his penis more tightly. Mycroft tried to help me again, directing my fingers. Suddenly I heard a characteristic noise. Our gold rings brushed each other and I lost my temper. The sound was so significant and it worked so hard on my thoughts, I sat on Mycroft. His penis entered me at one moment._

_We both moaned so loudly that I was sure the whole hotel heard us. Mycroft tilted his head back and breathed deeply with his eyes closed, and I couldn't take my eyes off him. Despite the pain and discomfort, I focused only on him. I massaged his hair. After a few seconds, he looked at me. Then he put his lips to my neck. Hands and fingers tightened around my hips. I felt the first push. At the same time, Mycroft stuck to my skin. A moment later I felt another push that hit my tender spot. I snuggled into Mycroft tightly, and he moaned again and again with every move. When he hit my prostate, I felt my penis twitching impatiently against his stomach._

_We were both wet with sweat and saliva. Groans penetrated the walls, as did the smell of sex. Mycroft held me firmly in place, almost digging his fingers into my groin. With every second we were closer to this blissful feeling. We both longed for this beautiful pleasure. We formed one body. After a few thrusts, ecstasy overwhelmed us. I came first. Mycroft followed me. I didn't think about anything, I didn't have strength. I fell on Mycroft and closed my eyes. I didn't think I'd wake up in the morning when he was gone ..._

John was taking a shower. Cool water ran down his aching body. He kept repeating the scenes from the previous night in his mind. He couldn't believe that Mycroft really made love to him. Genius was his best friend's brother. They were both drunk, okay. But that wasn't a good excuse. They crossed the thin line and reached for the forbidden fruit. They couldn't change it anymore.

Standing under the water, John felt sperm running down his thighs. He looked down and saw bruises on his hips that Mycroft had left. He gently touched them with his fingertips and hissed in pain. Purple spots were proof of their passion. John wasn't proud of them, but for some reason, he didn't feel guilty either. He took note of what had happened at night and decided to leave it like this for now. But what Mycroft intends to do about it? John would gladly ask him, but he left the apartment before John woke up.

After waking up, he lay in bed for some time. He had neither the strength nor the desire to get up. He listened to people who walked outside the hotel. It was only after some time that he realized he could still smell Mycroft and that the smell itself also penetrated him. He turned his head and looked at his phone. A glass of water and painkillers lay next to it. Maybe Mycroft was a distant man who preferred to avoid problems directly related to him, but John felt warm, seeing that he was not left alone. His husband cared for him, though he didn't do it face to face.

Thinking about Mycroft's behavior, John finally turned the water off and got out of the shower, wrapping his body in a soft towel. He looked at his hands and realized he had to spend a long time underwater because his skin was wrinkled and white. When he left the bathroom, he wondered if his husband would keep his word or change his plans to avoid meeting him. They were supposed to have dinner at Mycroft's favorite restaurant this evening. John did not have contact with him now but he decided to prepare for the occasion.

\---

Mycroft disappeared for almost the whole day as usual. John should get used to it, but this time he felt irritated because he had the impression his husband was especially avoiding him and was looking for an excuse not to return to the apartment. Childishness, John thought and started wandered around. Besides that, Francesca went with her husband to an important conference right after lunch and she had to leave John alone. They both wished they could spend more time together, but John knew he wasn't here to satisfy his whims.

He was glad when the sun was going down. It got a bit cooler and he could start preparing for Mycroft's return. He took a shower again that same day and put on a clean shirt. He loved the clothes his husband organized for him. They were not only elegant but also comfortable and made of extremely pleasant fabric. John knew that he couldn't afford such luxuries, even if he saved money for weeks.

He was leaning over the mirror on the wall and checking his tie when the apartment door opened and he saw Mycroft. John looked at him in the mirror reflection. Mycroft walked inside hesitantly, closed the door behind him and stood still, not looking at John. He dared to look at him after a few long seconds, only when he noted John was wearing an elegant vest and black trousers. He blinked several times and cleared his throat.

"John ..."

"Evening, Mycroft. I thought they locked you up at this meeting and they are keeping you there by force," John said as if nothing had happened between them and returned to fastening his cuffs. He took Mycroft off guard because the genius looked as if he did not know what happened and whether their night act was just a dream. 

John finally turned and walked toward him. "Ready? Or maybe you're not in the mood?"

"Ready for what?" Mycroft asked after a moment of silence. He watched John, who unceremoniously stood right in front of him and frowned.

"For dinner. Don't you remember? You said yesterday you would like to show me your favorite place."

Mycroft remembered about this proposal only now, but he did not show it. He looked at John and saw he showed no sign of regret what had happened several hours earlier. As if this situation did not happen. Mycroft was interested in his behavior and could not understand him at all. Staring into blue eyes, he stepped aside and let John walk toward the door.

It was bright outside the hotel, just like during the day. All thanks to the warm lights of the lamps. The water looked like a river made of gold. The illuminated buildings looked charming. People were busy talking to each other. Few groups of people laughed and went to nearby restaurants and cafes. Music was everywhere. John had seen Venice from the terrace many times at night, but he wondered why he was appreciating the beauty of this city only now and saw what had previously escaped his attention. Was it because of Mycroft's presence? John didn't want to know the answer, and he could feel his stare the whole time. This short road between the hotel entrance and the gondola harbor has never seemed so stressful to him. Mycroft stared at him and didn't even try to hide it. When they came to the gondola he saw a man in a standard gondolier costume who was staring at them with a smile.

"Buona sera, signori," he said in Italian. John loved the language and couldn't help smiling back. He stared at the handsome man, meanwhile, Mycroft entered the gondola and turned to John, offering him a hand. John blinked and took his delicate hand. He felt a shiver when he remembered that the same hand was caressing and touching him in the most private places. Mycroft probably knew his thoughts because he quickly brushed John's fingers with his mouth, released his hand, and took sit. John was not very comfortable so he sat down opposite Mycroft and facing the man at the stern. He wanted to force the genius not to stare at him so intensely.

Gondolier probably knew where to take them, because he started to control the gondola without unnecessary words. John felt the gondola tilt and start swinging in the calm water. He was silent but did not hide his joy and fascination. He watched everything around and admired every detail.

"Is this your first time?" Mycroft asked in a slightly surprised tone. He was sitting in a typical position. With crossed legs and comfortably spread out on the seat. He watched John with sharp eyes. "I thought Francesca showed you all the charms of Venice ..."

"She did. Francesca said I should have my first gondola trip with you. She said it was a unique experience and she would not take this pleasure away from us ..." John added with a smile, looking away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mycroft's surprise, replaced immediately by some kind of contentment.

Time passed slowly and monotonously. The gondola was slowly sliding on the water. John heard the splash of water as the man pulled out and dipped the paddle. The sounds of nightlife mixed in the middle of the canal. They heard happy conversations and music from nearby cafes. John heard the whirring of speedboats and the laughter of people sitting in restaurants along the canal. However, his heart was loudest. It beat with great power. He wondered if Mycroft had heard that too. At one point the gondola turned into a narrow channel. It looked like one of the streets nearby, but instead of stones and concrete, they moved on the water. If John wanted, he could reach out and touch the walls of buildings without any problems, examining their structure. Stone, old and damp walls had to hide more than one secret. They flowed under low bridges. John looked at the gondolier. The man never bowed his head, so he almost brushed the bottom of the bridge with his hair. After the third bridge he passed in this way, John realized the man did not pay attention to what he was doing. It would not be surprising, he had to know all the ways by heart after all, but the main problem was that instead of the road, he was staring at John and was smiling at him. When John realized he had been under his observation almost from the beginning, he blushed and looked away. His only comfort was that it was night, and the tall buildings covered the moonlight that would betray his embarrassment.

John tried to survive this difficult situation somehow and did not even realize Mycroft was reading all his thoughts and emotions. He knew perfectly well why John felt uncomfortable. He was silent for a long moment, but everything had its limits. At one point he got up and spoke without looking at the gondolier. "Stop here," he said in a rough voice, not even trying to use Italian. The man looked surprised, just like John, but he swam up to the nearest stairs and stopped there without a word. Mycroft elegantly stepped ashore and offered his hand to John. He paid the gondolier and went with John deep into the dark street.

"What just happened, Mycroft?" John asked after a long, tense moment. He walked alongside his husband, who led him through the narrow streets. Mycroft said nothing but pushed forward with clenched teeth. John couldn't stand it and grabbed his elbow, then turned him around. It was only now that the older man sighed heavily and looked down.

"I don't know, John. I don't understand it and it worries me," he said calmly now. He looked at John and his face softened. "We're close," he replied.

John nodded and walked slowly down the street with Mycroft. They passed a few streets and finally saw the sign of a modest but charming restaurant 'Bistrot de Venise'. Mycroft stepped inside and waited for John. When the waiter saw Mycroft he bowed slightly and led them both to a separate room that was intended only for them. John enjoyed the surroundings once again that night. The restaurant had a red-yellow room decorated with paintings and sculptures. John looked at Mycroft sitting in front of him, who was taking off his jacket and was looking at him with a small smile on his face. It took a few moments for the waiter to accept the order and leave them alone.

"It's so not like you," John muttered, making the older man frowned.

"You don't like it here?" he asked.

"I'm not talking about the restaurant. I mean, it's not your style to forget your promises."

Mycroft looked like he didn't quite understand John's words. "I didn't forget, John ..." he said slowly.

John raised an eyebrow but decided to leave the topic. He was thinking about more serious problem and knew that he had to start somehow.

"I can't focus my thoughts today, John, and I admit it very reluctantly. Besides, my brother doesn't make my job easier ..."

John was a little confused when Mycroft mentioned Sherlock. He didn't think Mycroft would talk about him at such a sensitive moment.

"Yeah ... It looks like he's angry with me because he hasn't tried to contact me since yesterday. But I feel he will show his disapproval when we return to London ..." he said and reached for an elegant glass of water standing on the table. He couldn't see it, but Mycroft carefully watched him put his mouth against the glass, swallowed the water, and sucked in his lower lip, getting rid of the remaining water. "Mycroft ..." John said without looking at the other man. He put down the glass and started playing with it with his fingers. "... speaking of yest..."

"John, I would like to..." genius interrupted him. He felt it was the moment.

"No. Let me finish ... I'm not going to talk about what happened, but about your behavior. Tell me why. Why did you avoid me all day?"

John's question confused Mycroft. He blinked several times and tried to match his words. He opened his mouth just to close it a moment later with restlessness on his face. "I guess I wasn't sure how I should behave," he said after a long silence. This answer was the safest one.

John frowned but didn't look nervous. He thought about Mycroft's excuse and he finally gave up. He raised a corner of his mouth, which relaxed the atmosphere a little. "All right. Now, if you can, answer me why?"

"I just did it a moment ago ..." Mycroft answered confused.

"No, no. I mean, why ... you know ... Why you did it with me? Answer me honestly. Just don't try to tell me it was because of alcohol."

This time Mycroft reached for a glass of water, trying to hide his slightly flushed cheeks. "You looked like you wanted it," he muttered softly and took a sip of water.

John raised his eyebrows and looked at him in disbelief. "So you did it because you thought that was what I wanted at that moment?

"You looked at me like that ... And I thought ... For God's sake, John. Why are you laughing?"

John tried to control his amusement, covering his mouth with his hand. He giggled and after a long break looked at annoyed Mycroft.

"No, it's nothing. I just thought I would like you to satisfy my other whims with such enthusiasm and passion ..." John said and watched as a smile appeared on the other man's lips. The atmosphere eased completely. John finally breathed a sigh of relief. He saw Mycroft was relaxed too.

After a while, one of the waitresses put a bottle of wine and glasses in front of them. Mycroft poured red wine and looked at his husband without guilt. "I just wanted to apologize to you for being so rough."

"Don't worry about it, Mycroft ..." John said, reaching for his glass. "... if I didn't like it, you would definitely feel it."

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, and they did not return to this topic. They enjoyed spending time together. Mycroft avoided sensitive topics, as usual, sometimes forcing John to guess his thoughts. It didn't bother him, because he had already learned to live with geniuses. But John was discovering new things about him and had to admit that he was very happy to do it.

When they decided to return to the hotel, they noticed people started to disappear from the streets. So this time they didn't use the gondola. It was a beautiful night, so it seemed a shame to waste it. John enjoyed every minute of the way alongside his husband and almost regretted when he realized they were almost at their hotel. John decided to stand and breathe fresh air. He closed his eyes and slightly tilted his head back, enjoying the peace and warmth of the night. He was so detached from reality he didn't even feel when Mycroft stood right in front of him. John opened his eyes when an older man gently grabbed his chin. He closed them immediately because Mycroft's soft lips placed a pure kiss on his mouth. The kiss didn't last long but was very meaningful.

After a few moments, they headed to the hotel. Everything might seem fine, if not for one thing. John and Mycroft almost moaned when they saw Aaron Stoner sipping a drink on one of the lounge chairs. He smiled wide when he saw them. He stood up stared at John. 

John and Mycroft clutched their hands.

"Here you are, my two lovebirds," he said cheerfully and spread his hands in greeting. John felt Mycroft's body freeze, saw the grimace on his face out of the corner of his eye.

"Mr. Stoner, it's not too reasonable to drink at this hour. We have important negotiations tomorrow, and if I remember correctly your presence is obligatory," Mycroft said in a hard tone, watching the other man devoured John with his gaze.

Aaron walked over to them shakily but proudly. "Oh, Mycroft. You're so stiff. Loosen this tie, undo the last button and relax a little. I'm surprised you're so tense. If I had someone like John next to me ..."

Mycroft did not comment on his words. He sighed and pulled John toward the stairs. When John passed Aaron, Stoner quickly grabbed his arm and brought his face closer. John didn't have time to react when a juicy kiss landed on his cheek.

"I have a surprise for you. I just moved my things to this hotel. We'll be able to see each other more often now," he said in a cheerful tone. John turned to Mycroft. Genius looked at Aaron who was also looked at him with a noticeable message in his eyes. 'I will watch you.'


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft Holmes was a calm man, who was approaching all kinds of situations with great distance and a cool head. He showed no weakness unless his brother's health and life were at stake. He lived on a completely different level and coexisted with ordinary people only out of necessity. Because of this, John couldn't take his eyes off him when they returned to their apartment. This usually calm and cynical man did not behave as usual. He avoided John's eyes, entered the room tensed, and did not turn on the light. He walked to the window and immediately grabbed the carafe filled with expensive whiskey. John saw the other man's jaw tightly clenched. Mycroft didn't look at him even for a moment.

John had seen angry Mycroft several times, but this time the atmosphere was overwhelming him. He hesitantly entered the darkroom and closed the elegant and heavy door behind him. He watched the genius. Mycroft emptied the glass in a few sips, then put it back in its place and rested his hands on the chair, leaning forward. The silence was terrifying. John could hear his heart beating and the sound of his footsteps when he decided to approach Mycroft. He crossed his arms and stopped just behind the other man.

"So many years and I keep learning new things ...".

Mycroft turned his head slightly towards him, but John could not see his face or his emotions. The silence continued until the older man sighed with irritation.

"Will you finish your thought, John, or do I have to guess what you meant to say?"

"It's about your behavior. I would never suspect you can barely control your emotions. Sherlock, yes, but you ...?"

"Forgive me, John, that I'm destroying your opinion of me. But I don't feel like playing this game at all. You will have to realize we are all humans, not idealized characters from your stories," the genius snarled and surprised John completely. He had not seen him like this yet. It was as if he were on the verge of aggression.

John did not understand Mycroft's behavior, but that should not surprise him. He wondered if anyone knew his real character to the end. They both looked at each other. He fought with Mycroft in a psychological war. He wasn't going to be the one to lose it. Finally, a flash of resignation flickered in the eyes of the older man, he looked away and tried to calm down.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't going to take my frustration out on you, John."

"I am not blaming you for anything like that. But at least tell me why Stoner's presence is changing you so much? You are either annoyed or happy lately. Neither of these emotions suits you."

"A lot has happened since we came here, John".

"Don't tell me it's my fault or the madman who is following us. It's hard to believe. Or maybe it's something else? Maybe you regret what happened between us? I just want to remind you that it was your idea, Mycroft. It was you who convinced everyone that you were married. You have to face the music. "

John turned and left Mycroft alone in the room, slamming the bedroom door. He didn't know why, but talking to him made him annoyed. John did not understand Mycroft's nerves and his irritation with his behavior. He threw off his clothes, went to bed in his underwear and closed his eyes tightly. He wasn't going to think about Mycroft's strange behavior. He didn't want to think about Sherlock and Stoner. He wanted to forget who he was for a few hours.

However, he couldn't do that. The moment his blood and breathing calmed down, John heard a murmur in the other room, and then the sound of the door opening. He didn't have to turn to know that it was Mycroft. Judging by his steps, the genius tried not to enrage him even more. His movements were quiet and gentle. Without bothering to change clothes, Mycroft took off his elegant vest and set his shoes down neatly next to the bed. The mattress behind John's back buckled under the weight of the other man. A loud sigh indicated that he was tired. John struggled to look at him. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to have a discussion.

"Stoner doesn't know the word 'failure'. Anything he chooses to do, everything he aspires to, is doomed to success. He'll do anything to get what he wants. That's why he's so dangerous. He competes with me at every turn. Stoner is one of those people, who are the mystery. Even I have no idea how to deal with him. I'm most afraid of him becoming interested in Sherlock ... "

Sherlock's name caught John's attention. He finally turned to the older man. Mycroft was stretched out on the bed, with eyes covered with his shoulder.

"Is Sherlock in danger?"

John was worried. Mycroft must have sensed his fear because he raised his arm slightly and looked at him with one eye.

"I didn't mean this kind of danger, John. Besides, my brother is under my strict control, and when my people can't cope with him anymore, I can rely on you."

John felt calm. He relaxed, lay down on the bed and rested his head on his hands.

"Who would have thought that the powerful Mycroft Holmes would ever be forced to do such things as lies," he said provocatively and smirked. "So what made you turn into a stinging wasp after confronting Aaron, Mycroft? Why you don't like him so much?"

"I just told you why," Mycroft said and looked at him. He sighed and returned to his previous position. "It's not easy to admit, but I'm afraid of what he's planning. I don't really know how he wants to get me, but I know he'll do it in a way that hurts me the most."

"And you know what I think?" John said, but Mycroft interrupted him almost immediately with a stiff and contemptuous tone.

"John, please ... Leave thinking for me. The only reason you are here is because I need your help with this little show. It's just like I said before. Don't do anything other than what we agreed to do."

"So I have to play the role of a loving husband and avoid all kinds of meetings and conversations with people around you? Am I right? Is that what you mean? I should be your toy that you could show off? You know what, Mycroft? When Sherlock says mean things, I know he does it unconsciously, but you do it intentionally, which makes me want to hit you in the teeth. "

Before Mycroft could answer John leaned over him and frowned.

"But okay. I will do this show for you, but if something goes wrong, blame only yourself ...". With these words, John grasped Mycroft's arm with a rough movement and pinned it on the pillow above his head. Mycroft was too confused to react when John attacked him with his lips. He firmly found the way inside the genius's mouth and began to dominate him with a kiss.

Mycroft let out an uncontrollable moan. John aggressively sucked his lips and held him in a tight embrace, crushing him with his weight. Hot breath made his face sweat. He felt that delicate scent again. He felt a hand that caressed his neck. At that moment John bit Mycroft's lip. The man jerked and made a surprised sound. John licked the blood that leaked from a small wound on the lower lip of the older man, then turned around and laid on his part of the bed and covered himself with bedding. He could hear Mycroft's loud breaths behind him.

"John ..."

John didn't say anything. He made him understand that the discussion was over because he put a pillow over his head and pressed it firmly to his ears.

Mycroft could do nothing. He had to let go. He knew that he should have been silent before and nothing would justify his outburst of rage. But now he had other problems. His relationship with John was going in a worrying direction. Stoner was his growing problem. He also received alarming news about Sherlock, who seemed to enjoy mingling with his plans. Mycroft did not know how and when his plan would start falling apart, but he was sure it was inevitable.

\---

The morning was not as hot as in the last few days and John was happy to hear that for the first time since arrival they will have breakfast on the hotel's observation deck. White clouds covered the sun from time to time, and the breeze rising from the water reached high above the hotel roof. John enjoyed the moment. He sat comfortably in a chair with closed eyes and was listening to the bustle under the hotel and the noise of passing ships. From time to time he could hear the sound of a cup tapping on a small plate.

"I have to tell you what will happen at the end of the week. All influential people will have the occasion to meet at a gala dinner and we're both invited too... unfortunately," said Mycroft sipping black coffee from a miniature cup. John opened his one eye and looked at him without turning his head.

"What about Francesca?"

"As far as I know, both she and her husband will also have to be at this meeting," Mycroft's tone was dispassionate as if he didn't care. John didn't even doubt it. Over the past week, he realized that Sherlock's older brother not only avoided official banquets but actually detested them. If he had the opportunity, he would go somewhere in the room and spend this kind of situation with a laptop in hand.

"That's good ..." John sighed and tilting his head back, put his fingers together on his stomach. He enjoyed the warm wind on his face. "... I won't feel like the last idiot at least."

"What do you mean?" asked Mycroft. He held his hand holding a cup of coffee and looked at John.

"I mean your club. A club of snobbish and sometimes rude intellectuals who pretend to be worried about the good of the free world, but are actually fighting in psychological wars. Looking at all of you I am glad to be an ordinary human being. Only with Francesca, I don't feel like a total moron. " John heard Mycroft sigh but didn't see the other man put down his coffee and straighten up in his chair.

After a soft sigh, Mycroft hesitated for a moment, then replied to John in a calm tone.

"John, listen. I tried to avoid this issue because I thought that telling you this would only destroy the relationship between us, which by the way is not the best from the beginning. I mean, it was me who took you here and it was me who told you to pretend to be my spouse, so it seemed obvious to me that I would be responsible for you. If you have any problems, something bothers you or you just want to talk ... then you can rely on me. I'm not a man with a great hole instead of a heart. I understand what responsibility and empathy mean. "

John frowned, not quite understanding what Mycroft wanted to say. He blinked several times before taking a glass of orange juice. An awkward silence fell between them. John tried to focus on what he heard. That was weird. This type of care did not suit to Mycroft and John had the impression that he was the object of his game. Although, on the other hand, he felt an incomprehensible warmth in his heart when he thought that maybe Mycroft's behavior was not artificial and that he was not as a thick-skinned man as he wanted to be. Sherlock and Mycroft were similar, and for a strange reason, John could get along with each of them.

"Scusate, signori ..." an unknown man's voice caught their attention. They both looked at the stocky man. He had incredibly white teeth and shiny black hair. He stood beside their table with a slight bow. He looked like a hotel employee.

"Signore Lucatelli asks if you could spare him a moment, Mr. Holmes".

Mycroft nodded. He wiped his mouth with an elegant napkin and pushed his chair away from the table.

"I'm going to talk to the hotel manager, John. Please take your time with your meal".

John watched as Mycroft and the other man walked deeper into the restaurant. There was another man at the end of the corridor. He bowed when he saw Holmes. Mycroft entered the corridor and closed the door. They were made of glass, so John saw them both - the manager and his husband. They both treated each other with respect. John was so intrigued watching them, he didn't notice when someone sat down opposite him. It took a moment for him to focus on the man sitting in Mycroft's chair. He instantly rolled his eyes seeing this sneaky smile.

"I can understand now why every time I see Mycroft, I have the impression that he has this specific aura around him."

John raised an eyebrow and looked at Aaron, crossing his arms. The other man's smile widened even more.

"You're about to burn a hole in the door with your stare, John. No wonder your husband walks so proud if he has such support in you."

His words did not affect John in the way Aaron would have wished. Seeing the indifference mixed with irritation on John's face, Stoner grew serious and looked down at his joined hands. He was pale and had eye bags. His greasy hair stuck to his forehead and around his ears. However, everything else was elegant. His shirt was clean, he had shiny shoes and flawless white teeth. He didn't look like the drunk man from last night.

John's eyes fell on his chapped lips. He remembered their touch on his cheek, hot breath, and that wet kiss. He wanted to wipe the place where Stoner had marked him with such possessiveness in the previous night. He saw Mycroft behind him. Genius looked at him a bit longer than usual. He looked like he was thinking about something very hard. A moment later, Mycroft turned to the hotel manager and shook his head.

"How about tonight?"

John realized Aaron had been talking to him for some time.

"Sorry, what?"

"Tonight. Dinner at my apartment. I would like to erase this embarrassing impression I left after last night. To be honest, I don't remember much ..."

"You must be out of your mind, if you think, I will agree to your offer. Please, just leave us alone "John did not even hide that Aaron's presence irritated him. He looked at him but a second later he saw Mycroft coming onto the terrace and walking in their direction.

"John, I have to go back to the room now," he said, then looked at Stoner.

Aaron watched him too. He frowned slightly as his eyes fell on Holmes's lips.

"And you ... Do I have to remind you we have an important conference at noon? If I were you I wouldn't risk ignoring this important meeting ...

The men looked at each other in tense silence. None of them wanted to look away first. John knew they both had to fight this psychological war for a long time. Aaron didn't look too tense or upset, and Mycroft took the proudest and hard attitude he could. At one point, Mycroft just turned and headed for the terrace door, leaving John alone with Aaron. Stoner was very pleased with that. He looked at John with a smile and leaned over the table.

John didn't hear what he was saying. He only thought about how to murder Mycroft in the most painful way.

\---

"Cute!"

Mycroft looked at John who entered the apartment and slammed the door quite loudly. It was obvious he wasn't in a good mood. Mycroft left him on the sunny terrace with Aaron. Stoner was able to annoy and irritate even the calmest and most composed people. Mycroft ignored John and returned to choosing the right suit for the upcoming meeting.

"You are so cute, my love, leaving me alone with this gross stalker. But don't worry. I somehow managed to get away from him... Thank you, Mycroft." John walked around the living room and clenched his hands nervously.

"It was part of my plan, John. I had to check if my suspicion was right," he said without any remorse or compassion. He smoothed the folds on the gray suit but did not turn or look at John. After a moment, he reached into his bag to choose a tie.

"And? What did you find out?" John asked nervously.

"Everything seems to be correct. Although I didn't think Stoner would act like that when I introduce you as my husband". Mycroft finally turned to John smiling mysteriously. He held the hanger in one hand and looked at him." You amaze me, more and more every day, John".

Mycroft's perfidious smile did not get on John's nerves as much as Stoner's, but he still wanted to do something to remove that satisfaction from his face. Suddenly Mycroft's phone started vibrating. He came to the low table, hung his shirt on the back of a nearby sofa and grabbed the phone.

"Something important?" John asked.

"No. A simple report on what my brother is doing."

"Do you get reports via messages?"

"It's rather like a few short sentences in one. It would take a lot longer to describe what Sherlock does if ..." Suddenly his phone landed on the couch. He looked at John and saw he stood right in front of him with a determined expression. Mycroft was even more surprised when he felt the first thrust on his chest. He staggered and took a step back. Another thrust and another two steps. He realized what was happening when his back hit the cold wall. The shorter man pulled his face down and pressed him with his body.

At first, Mycroft felt only the pleasure of John's kiss and body heat. He even allowed himself to deepen the kiss but finally realized what was happening. He tried to free himself from John's strong hands, but despite the difference in height, he could not compete with him. John was strong and extremely determined to get his way. He sucked on Mycroft's mouth, not letting him say a word. The older man managed to free himself only when he felt John's knee started to rub against his groin.

"Uh ... John. What are you doing? John ...?" his words were absorbed by kisses. He could hardly breathe and barely stood on his feet. He felt how one of John's hands detach from his face and went to the zipper in his pants. After the characteristic sound of unfastening the belt, Mycroft gathered all his strength, waited for the right moment and turned their bodies, regaining control over the situation. He held John's hands above his head and pressed him to the wall.

"John ..."

"What is it ... my love? This is what I should do, right? I should behave like a loving husband, so why should I not take this opportunity?"

John tried to catch Mycroft's lips with his teeth but the genius jerked his head back. He saw John's reaction, his dilated pupils and faster breathing. He could feel his pulse under his clenched fingers, his hot breath and the bulge in his pants that pressed against his leg. He was excited too and he had to admit - to his huge surprise - he wanted John and desired his touch. He loosened his hand carelessly. John took advantage of this chance. He started to push Mycroft into the center of the room and attack him with passionate kisses. After a few steps, Mycroft slammed his calves against the edge of the sofa. They both fell down.

John fell on him with his body and started to unbutton Mycroft's trousers. Mycroft gasped to his lips, trying to lay as comfortable as possible. Their kisses were chaotic, they both wanted to get more. More taste, breaths, more sweet noises, and touch. John dropped their trousers down and grabbed Mycroft's penis in his hand. He spread the pre-ejaculate on his hand and started to massage them both in a firm grip. They moaned with pleasure.

"John ... wait ... my shirt".

John almost growled in annoyance. Mycroft's shirt slipped off the back of the sofa when they fell on it. John grabbed his ironed shirt, and ignoring Mycroft's moan of dissatisfaction, he dropped it carelessly on the floor. Their rubbing penises created obscene sounds. They gasped and moaned. The couch creaked under their weight, and its legs left marks on the oak floor. John's movements accelerated with each passing moment. Mycroft held John's neck in one place with his hand and deepened kisses.

"Haa ... harder" Mycroft's voice was like a whimper, which made John unable to resist him. He leaned his legs on the back of the couch and massaged crazy both himself and the other man. The noises in his ears almost made him dizzy. He waited for the impending climax with his eyes closed and with a buzz in his head.

"Uhh, John ... ah!"

Mycroft jerked forward, and warm and sticky liquid spilled in John's hand. John did not control his reactions, he panted and moaned, and after a few moves, he also came on Mycroft's stomach. He fell on Mycroft's trembling body, not even able to open his eyes. After a few long moments, he felt the older man reach for something under his back. He opened his eyes and looked at his pale face. Mycroft was staring at the phone screen with big eyes.

"Oh my God..."


	12. Chapter 12

Judging by Mycroft's step and stiff attitude, John knew something disturbing must have happened that the older man wasn't prepared for. He walked unnaturally fast, he was not looking around. He was avoiding conversations with shopkeepers and souvenir traders who greeted them. It looked like he did not even pay attention to the hot temperature. Mycroft seemed to be completely lost in his thoughts and detached from reality. However, John knew that Mycroft could think about two things at once. He saw his clenched jaw and he was convinced he was angry at him because of his stubbornness. He felt like smiling, but he saw seriousness and anger on Mycroft's face, so he just walked in silence, holding back a bit and trying to keep up.

He had no idea what Mycroft was up to and what could make him feel so mad. He knew this has probably something to do with the upcoming meeting of ministers, politicians and other important personalities. He thought maybe one of the secret agents, one of the foreign politicians had sent a warning about a terrorist attack or something like that. Perhaps it was, for this reason, this extraordinary meeting was called. To find a way to prevent it. Perhaps the matter concerned the sudden problems of one of the countries. Only Mycroft, advisors and ministers convened to the meeting knew what had happened. John was glad it had nothing to do with Sherlock.

As he lay on the couch with his trousers down and saw Mycroft's pale face, he felt a tightness in his stomach and cold sweat on his back. He'd watched too many movies, read too many romances, and knew what that meant. He supposed when they were having fun, Mycroft fell on his phone. He chose Sherlock's number by accident. Sherlock heard their moaning and the sound of a shuffling couch. This was the worst possible option. When he asked if his suppositions were true, Mycroft gave him a withering look, then denied it sharply. John wanted to take a sigh of relief and put his head on the man's chest, but he was gently but firmly pushed aside. Mycroft jumped up and went for the bathroom to get ready. He smoothed his hair, buttoned up his clothes and washed his face, muttering something about the irresponsibility and stupidity of Israeli diplomats. It was his only opportunity and John had no intention of wasting it. He had enough of sitting in one place and wondering what to do. He did not intend to succumb to Mycroft's resolve once again, so he quickly wiped sperm from his stomach, entered the bedroom, and took a clean shirt from the wardrobe. He looked at the toilet door from time to time and when he finally stood dressed in clean clothes, he sighed with relief. Of course, Mycroft's persuasion and threats did not help, because John was determined to spend the day - no matter how it would end - at his husband's side.

And just like that, he was here, next to Mycroft. They walked quickly along the waterfront of the city. John saw the Hotel Monaco & Grand Canal. This was the place. A place for a special meeting. Usually, Mycroft used water transport even when the road was short, but this time he didn't even look at the passing gondolas or other boats. Maybe the distance between the hotels was not very big, but John was surprised that the older man was not disturbed by the presence of so many people passing by. He concluded that his husband had used this time to think through many things and to prepare for the upcoming meeting.

Just before reaching the white building, surrounded by tables for hotel guests, Mycroft gently took John's hand. The slender fingers and warm skin were very stimulating. There was something unusual about this. Mycroft's presence made John want more of his touch, he wanted to feel even more strongly that at that moment he belonged to this man. This simple and innocent gesture turned into a very intimate and desirable element of their time together in just a few days. John had to admit he liked the touch of Mycroft's skin and was slowly getting used to it. He clung to him and squeezed his hand tighter.

The hotel looked like something was going to happen there. Guests of the hotel were politely forced to leave the building. They were replaced by dozens of men in black, expensive suits and with bluetooth earphones. Some of them stayed outside, while the others were hanging around the lobby and looked into the abandoned rooms to lead out stubborn and non-cooperating hotel guests. Important delegates and heads of some countries were sitting in the big hall, waiting for others. They discussed this sudden problem. Mycroft felt confident but didn't let go of John's hand. 

Seeing Mycroft and John, one of the bodyguards nodded slightly in greeting, without saying a word. John noticed a slight relief on his face.

"You're here, Mycroft. Welcome to you too, Mr. Watson," one of the men in the gray suit said, walking to John and reaching his hand toward him. He gave him a quick smile, but then looked at Holmes as if he were the only hope for this urgent situation.

"Where is Silwan Shalom?" Mycroft asked, looking around.

"This is the main problem," the man said quietly and leaned toward Holmes. "... the situation overwhelmed him. He must have had a mental breakdown. His advisers are trying to get him out of the room and convince him to negotiate."

"Shalom has no other choice. This is not about his position in government, but it's about the whole country." Mycroft was irritated. He shifted his feet and inhaled loudly. "My opinion has always been that the job of the interior minister is beyond his strength..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a cheerful and light footstep spreading across the marble floor. John was overwhelmed by a strange feeling, and for some reason, he didn't want to turn away to see if his fears were real.

"*Can't buy me love. Everybody tells me so. Can't buy me love. No no no, no... Why the long face, Mycroft? You don't know this song? I heard it by accident on the internet when I was looking for information about ... London ".

John closed his eyes when he heard Aaron's cheerful voice. Stoner's presence was another thing he hated. He looked at his stalker. Aaron was smiling in that annoying way of his as he came closer to them. But with every move, Stoner's face grew more serious. When he stopped in front of them, his smile disappeared completely, replaced by disbelief and shock. He looked at John, and Mycroft without a word, giving him a shocked look.

"No... there is no way you two..." he said incredulously. As if he could not believe that Mycroft could go so far as to ...

"Mr. Stoner" Mycroft's voice was steady and cold as always. "I guess you are not as big ignorant as you claim to be and you realize how difficult this problem is. Could you focus on the current situation for a moment instead of acting like a fool in front of all these people? If you have at least a bit of decency then you will leave this irresponsible behavior of yours for a moment and focus on the reason why you are here. Otherwise, I will personally make sure that your ministry is bypassed at the next congress and vote. Your superiors will not be satisfied with this fact, right? "

For the first time since arrival, John saw real anger and seriousness in Aaron's eyes. He looked at John with a clenched jaw and turned to join the others in the main hall. Mycroft followed him with his eyes and then turned to John.

"Stay close, John. The whole hotel is secure and nobody can leave it until the meeting is over. Francesca will keep you company. Go upstairs and wait" Mycroft pointed to the stairs hidden behind the decorated column. John turned his head in this direction when he suddenly felt a soft kiss on his hand.

Mycroft instantly turned and joined others waiting to start the meeting. Holmes walked past the couch. Stoner sat paler and calmer than usual. He looked at the doctor. John, seeing his gaze, turned and walked to the stairs. Standing in front of the first step, his eyes were caught by an angelic figure standing at the very top. The lady in the white dress smiled at him and opened her arms in greeting.

\---

The discussion continued for several hours. The sun was starting to hide behind the horizon and the sky was starting to turn purple. The last rays of the sun reflected in the windows of the great hall, and the shadow covered more and more of the room. John lazily played with vegetables, he ate for dinner. He tried not to think about time. He was sitting on the long balcony, separated from the rest of the high room by a stone balustrade. Mycroft and the others sat under the balcony in the large hall. John didn't understand any of what they were talking about, though. Neither, the other women who accompanied their husbands that day. John would feel lost and bored, but Francesca's presence made him feel better. She didn't leave him alone for a second.

"Maybe more, John?" Mrs. Coletti asked him with obvious concern in her voice, pointing to a tray with food.

John smiled at her but shook his head. "Thank you. I'm not hungry anymore. I really want it to end soon."

He walked away from the table and slowly came the balustrade. He leaned on his elbows on a cold murmur and looked down. At any other time, he would probably love the beauty of the surroundings. He would appreciate not only the colors and cleanliness but also the love that the owners had to put in decorating this hotel. Now, however, his thoughts were focused on Mycroft.

It was his first time when he saw Mycroft was doing something other than admonishing his brother, clicking on a laptop or driving around the city and pulling people into the car. Mycroft Holmes was working. And that meant, of course, that he completely forgot about other important things. For example, he forgot to eat. The talks continued for several hours, but Mycroft's dish lay untouched on the table. This would be a completely understandable behavior in Sherlock's case, but John realized that Mycroft was more mysterious and inaccessible.

"Silwan Shalom is a very stubborn man," Francesca said, pointing to a bald man with glasses who in silence sat next to Stoner.

"Neither my husband nor your Mycroft have any influence on this man. He is not listen to any of them," she added, squeezing gently John's elbow.

"They can't deal with one guy?" John asked. He did not understand the situation. 

"You see, my dear John. I adore your husband and I know he is good. He may be rude to a fool but if you need help he will help. Unfortunately many of them ..." she pointed at the men below again " ... or makes him angry or wants to find another way to deal with problems. My husband always stand by Mycroft's side, but that's not enough. That's why I'm glad he have you, John. "

Hope flashed in her eyes. John felt support and knew what she meant. He looked down at the discussing men. Mycroft sipped white wine, and Stoner took off his jacket, explaining something to the others. John kissed Francesca's hand and, remembering her warm smile, walked down the stairs. He passed the tall bodyguard, and decorative column, and stepped closer to the group of men. They stopped the discussion when they saw him. John tried to handle their attentive glances. It was difficult for him because he had never before faced so many important people at once. He stared at Mycroft and came next to the couch where genius was sitting.

"We're going back to the hotel, Mycroft," he said calmly. All the men looked very confused. They looked at each other and at John. However, the most surprised of them all was Holmes. Mycroft blinked nervously and didn't know what to say.

"John ...".

"These gentlemen are apparently not too willing to accept your ideas. Since they do not want to listen to your advice, that's means, they do not need it and they can deal with this problem alone. Come on ..." John gave his hand to Mycroft and waited for him.

"Mr. Watson, I understand you are worried about your partner, but his presence is necessary. We can't deal with this situation without him. And we all have to ..."

"I doubt it," John growled.

"This issue, which we are discussing now, has many aspects and requires deep reflection ..."

"How many of you are here? Twelve? You've been here for seven hours and although the solution to your problem - Mycroft - sits among you, you do nothing with it. From what I see, you don't need him that much. I prefer him to spend this time with me. I give you five minutes. If you don't accept Mycroft's offer at that time, I'm taking him to the hotel". John could hear his own heartbeat. He returned upstairs to Francesca, not paying attention to the surprised faces.

He could not believe he was capable of such behavior. Who would have thought that an ordinary doctor could scold delegates from around the world just because he could not erase the vision of hungry Mycroft out of his head? He fell into an armchair and waited for the coming minutes. He felt Francesca's presence all this time. She was holding his hand with a small smile. It wasn't even five minutes when he heard Mycroft's voice.

"Come, John" his voice was completely different from how he talked to him before they came here. John could have sworn he heard a note of amusement in his tone. He felt a little different than usual at Mycroft's presence and for incomprehensible reasons, he wanted to be alone with him. He said goodbye to Francesca and went back with his husband. It wasn't until he went outside that he noticed it was late evening. Life has returned to balance. Tourists ate suppers in nearby restaurants, gondolas crossed the main channel. Street musicians were playing in the distance, and the smell of warm summer was all around in the air. Everything felt intensified to him. But there was one thing John felt the most. Mycroft's stare. He felt his stare almost all the time. Even when he turned to see if his suspicions were correct, the older man didn't look away. He watched John with shining eyes, and a moment later grabbed his hand.

They walked back to Danieli Hotel, holding hands and saying nothing. Every time John gathered his courage to start a conversation, all he needed was one glance at Mycroft watching him, and all his determination and confidence disappeared in the blink of an eye. He could not see it, but every time he did it, an invisible smile appeared on the older man's face. When they arrived, Mycroft nodded in greeting to the hotel manager and still gripping John's hand tightly, he climbed the stairs to the apartment.

They noticed a strange scene next to their door. Apparently, the hotel was getting ready to receive new guests. The staff cleaned the apartment next to John and Mycroft's rooms. This view caught the attention of Holmes, who stopped moving and watched the room service. The heavy and oak doors kept opening and closing. Some of the cleaners washed a red carpet on their knees.

"What's the matter, Mycroft?" John asked, standing next to the older man.

"I talked to the manager about changing the room this morning. He offered us this apartment because it has two separate bedrooms," he said, without taking his eyes off the bustle.

"Are we moving?"

"Would you like to?" this time Mycroft looked at him.

John hesitated for a moment. "No ... our bed is enough for the two of us. Unless you ..."

Mycroft turned his head and though he tried to hide it, John noticed satisfaction on his face caused by his response.

"It doesn't matter anymore. It was the only free apartment, but it looks like the hotel has become popular since free rooms are rented so quickly.

Mycroft pulled John into their apartment and after slamming the door he breathed out a sigh of relief. He threw off his blazer, hung it over the back of the couch, and reached for the tie, which he loosened with one slow motion.

"What do you want to eat for dinner?"

"I'm not hungry, but you need something to eat, for sure," John said from the other room. He was in the middle of removing his shirt when he saw Mycroft leaning against the door frame from the corner of his eye. He stood with his arms crossed and was looking at him intently. There was something awkward in his behavior, so John cleared his throat and turned to face the wardrobe.

"I wish you could see Stoner's face when I said we were going back to the hotel. He sat without a word and his eyes were so big I thought..."

John couldn't say anything more. He felt something warm behind his back and saw Mycroft's left hand appearing from behind his head and clung to the wardrobe door. His exposed neck was wrapped in a hot breath. Silence and tension grew with every second. John's heart was beating unbelievably fast, and his breathing became as irregular as Mycroft's.

"What shall I do with you?".

Mycroft put his forehead on John's crown. John shuddered but as he prepared to turn around, Mycroft's soft lips started to leave single kisses on his neck. He loved this feeling, so he closed his eyes with pleasure and tilted his head back, leaning on the shoulder of the older man. He breathed through his open mouth and allowed himself to a low murmur.

When the kisses started to get more intense, he turned around and pulled Mycroft's head down with both hands. He put their lips together and deepened the kiss. He felt strong arms around him and he knew he wanted it. He wanted to make love with Mycroft, he wanted to feel his skin again. He wanted to feel that he had power over older Holmes, and yet he would not dare to dream about it a week earlier.

In a fit of determination, he started to push Mycroft toward the bed, without breaking the kisses. He threw off his vest and the moment he wanted to push him onto the bed, the older man dodged. John lost his balance and landed face down on the bed. He didn't manage to react or even raise his head when Mycroft crushed him with his body. He put his hand under John and started to rub his chest, chuckling in a low tone.

"Soldiers should never lose their vigilance," he said feisty, which only irritated John.

"Ex-soldiers too?"

"This concerns them the most. They shouldn't be too confident either."

"Thanks for the warning ..." he muttered, trying to free himself from Mycroft. However, the genius didn't let him do it. What's more, he put his finger on John's nipple and started brushing his neck with his lips again. He heard a soft grunt and felt John's body tremble.

John turned his head, trying not to look at the pleased face of the older man. He had to surrender to him and although he would have a chance to defeat him, he preferred to let him take control this time. He focused on pleasure and Mycroft's efforts. He didn't stop his moans when he felt the brushes on his sensitive places. However, when the warm hand slid down to his groin, he opened his eyes and tensed his body. Mycroft noticed his hesitation. He stopped moving and raised his head. He watched John's reaction for a moment. His accelerated breathing, red skin, and trembling body.

"Should I stop?"

John shook his head slightly, so the older man leaned over him again and kissed him calmly on the exposed cheek. He could feel John's eyelashes brushing against his skin as he closed his eyes. He put his tongue in John's ear and caressed his groin with his fingers.

John wanted more. He wanted to cuddle up with Mycroft, kiss him, feel his body. The tongue that caressed and irritated his ear and hot breath affected his crotch. He wanted to let Mycroft know he needed more, so he raised his hips and pressed against the body of an older man. He felt bulges in his trousers. Mycroft's fingers lazily massaged him in an unsatisfactory place so far. But now Mycroft pressed his hand to John's pulsing penis. A deep growl came from Mycroft's throat. He started to rub against John's buttocks.

"Ah ..." John's voice penetrated the body of an older man. His voice sounded like someone was torturing him, but he enjoyed it anyway. As if in the last moments of his life he was trying to find pleasure in even the smallest thing.

Mycroft shifted his weight to the hand on the mattress and reluctantly moved away from John, shifting him to his back. John looked a bit surprised, but he enjoyed the change of position. He quickly wrapped his arms around Holmes's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Mycroft lay between his thighs.

"Ah ... Mycroft ..."

Suddenly the belt in Mycroft's trousers landed on the ground and before he knew it, his buttocks were bare. John sank his fingers into the skin he had just exposed and started to remove Mycroft's shirt. Clothes were the biggest obstacle for him, and he wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. The first two buttons on Mycroft's shirt did not cause him a problem, but the third proved to be a challenge. The button didn't want to squeeze through the narrow hole, and sweaty and trembling fingers didn't make John's task easier. Finally, his patience came to an end, he grabbed the front of the shirt with both hands and prepared to tear it apart. But Mycroft noticed and anticipated his move. He clenched his fingers tightly on John's hands and broke the kiss.

"Armani, John".

John rolled his eyes. He looked at the other man who, without taking his eyes off him, tried to take off his shirt. He succeeded a moment later and returned to John's arms with a satisfied smile. In fact, he wanted to get back into his arms, but he jumped out of bed and went to the bathroom. He came back and brought some cream with him. He put it next to John. He knelt on the bed and pulled off John's trousers and underwear. He put the cream on his fingers and lay between John's open thighs. Then he kissed him. John was trembling as Mycroft caressed his lips with his tongue and spread the cream with his free hand around the sensitive area.

John tilted his head as the first finger sank into him, almost to the end. Mycroft watched his reaction with open mouth and blurred eyes. He tried to catch every grimace on John's face as he pushed his fingers deep into him. He tried to find the prostate and when he succeeded, he immediately added two more fingers. John's moans became louder and uncontrollable. He writhed under the body of an older man who couldn't take his eyes off him. Sweat soaked into the sheets and John felt like more stimulation would drive him crazy. Mycroft took out his fingers and hung over John.

"I don't have condoms," he said.

John smiled. "I would be really surprised if you had."

Mycroft put the tip of the penis at John's sensitive place. He gasped as the first inches sank into John. Mycroft, seeing the effort and pain of the other man, put a hand on his hand and joined their fingers. He lowered his head and soothingly kissed John's hot and swollen lips. The blond man was breathing deeply with his eyes closed. He massaged his penis so that the pain would not cause such discomfort with the other hand. It took forever before Mycroft entered him whole. When he did this, he tried not to crush John with his body, although he barely controlled himself. He looked at John's face and his blue eyes filled with lust. If he had one more hand, he would surely wipe the sweat off his forehead and move wet strands of hair aside. But now he could only watch him in silence.

This tense situation lasted a long time. Mycroft's face had to show a lot of emotion because John started to chuckle. The sound was so different and so appealing, the older man must have felt it in his own lips. He kissed John and absorbed even the slightest sound. When he pulled up to take a deep breath, he brushed his nose with his nose.

"Too much wine, Mycroft?" John asked provocatively but with amusement. He didn't understand the strange tenderness of the other man, although he liked it very much. Mycroft buried his face in John's neck.

"How much would I give it to be the only reason ..." he muttered so quietly that John could not understand his words.

John wrapped his legs around Mycroft's waist and held his neck with his free arm. He tightened the muscles around the genius's penis and encouraged him to push. Mycroft made the first move. And another one. He pulled out and hit the sensitive spot with the next push. John sighed with pleasure, so Mycroft repeated the move.

"Ah!"

Mycroft shuddered when he heard that moan. He clung even closer to John's body, almost choking him, and started to hit his prostate with a steady, calm rhythm.

"Ah! Ah! Mycroft ... Ah!"

The older man was lost in pleasure and sounds. The sound of a sticky penis moving in John was combined with a moaning and wind noise coming through the open window, announcing the coming storm. It didn't take long before Mycroft completely stopped controlling his reactions. He was pushing his penis in John with an uncontrollable rhythm, and his hand on the doctor's penis moved once quickly, once slowly. John was crazy with lust, though he knew he could do nothing. He felt impending pleasure. A few moments later he came in Mycroft's palm. Genius probably didn't even realize it because he didn't stop massaging him. Pleasure started to change into discomfort and slight pain. John was about to admonish him when he suddenly felt his cum in his stomach. Mycroft trembled for a moment, gushing deep into John with hot sperm, and then he fell on him without consciousness. His hot breath warmed John's skin.

John felt he was starting to fall asleep. Before he did it, he realized, Mycroft wiped him dry, covered him with a light blanket, and lay down next to him. Lying on his back, he could see the ornate ceiling that flared up as lightning outside the window lit up the surroundings. A few seconds later, he heard a dark bang and then saw another flash. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He had a restful sleep. He didn't dream of anything special and he was too tired to notice how quickly the night passed. When he woke up after a few hours, he realized he had been in one position all night, because the angel who was staring at him from the ceiling at night was still in the same place. Only the room lighting changed. From the side of his head, he could hear the calm breathing of the sleeping Mycroft and the quiet noise of the moving curtains. His eyelids were slightly ajar, which is why he saw the outline of someone's figure standing next to the bed and then he heard a familiar voice.

"This room reeks of sex."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Beatles - Can't Buy Me Love


	13. Chapter 13

He was sitting in a comfortable leather armchair. He turned off the lights above his head, so he could focus. The bright light only annoyed him when he thought about something very strongly. He forced himself not to tap his heel on the carpeted floor and not play with the phone he held tightly in his hand. He may have looked calm, but in reality, he was angry and impatient. He wanted to be at the hotel and see what the situation was. The view behind the small and wet window has not changed since the beginning of the flight. He could still see the same black space lit only by the small light of the cities below. When he looked at the cities outside the window, he knew where he was and how long he had to travel. Once in a while, a bolt of lightning striking struck the air next to the plane. He tried to focus his thoughts only on the view of cities and fields below because every memory of the reason why he actually flew to Venice droved him crazy.

"So beautiful" he heard a female voice next to him, but he completely ignored it. He wasn't going to admire the views. Maybe for ordinary people, it was one of those moments that gave them shivers ... but in his case, it didn't matter. Why would he admire something that had no value or was it just a short moment? Ordinary brief moments that ordinary people enjoyed.

"It would be such a shame to close my eyes when I see something like that. All these buildings seem so small and cute ..."

Her smile faded slowly as she looked at him and realized her words were not reaching his thoughts. She gave up. She felt embarrassed that she was so visibly ignored, though it wasn't new to her. She looked out the window again and decided to remain silent until the end of the journey.

He was grateful, she finally understood his signals. He did not intend to answer her attempts to chat, and although it was not right for him to plug his ears, he was relieved when the cabin went quiet. He could focus on the only reason he set out on this journey. He could also analyze all possible scenarios that were to result from his sudden arrival. He smiled at the thought, but on the other hand, he felt an incomprehensible nervousness that did not leave him until the end of the flight.

He sank into his thoughts so much, he barely realized when they started landing. He acted like a machine when he got into a private car, that was standing and waiting for them on the airport lane. He did not think about his actions, he was simply guided by instincts. Luggage, the presence of other people, the rest of the way - he did not care about these things in the slightest. Even as he drove through the famous Ponte della Libertà road his thoughts revolved around the only person for whom he left an interesting case and who would sum up this fact just by rolling his eyes. While his companion watched the storm move away from the city, he watched the train quickly overtake their car. He wished he had chosen the train, he would have arrived much earlier.

The coming sunrise brought a change of weather. Black clouds started to disappear beyond the horizon, and bangs and flares disappeared completely. The wind died down, but it was still strong enough to make small ships and cutters swing on the water. The car rushed on a wet road towards the south-eastern part of the city. After a few minutes, they arrived at the designated place. The driver took out their luggage and led them to the ordered motorboat.

They felt the fresh smell of the sea. The air was chilled by rain but it was pleasantly warm. It seemed to him that the city breathed a sigh of relief after the storm. Gusty rain cooled the sun-lit buildings and breathed new strength into the citizens because despite the very early hour they were already getting ready for the next day. Steam started to float from the streets and walls of historic buildings. City dwellers opened their windows wide, and the wind dried the soaked sheets that protected the boats and gondolas. The whole city was coming to life, giving the impression of losing the weight of several hundred years within a few hours. The city gained new strength.

He watched this all from the motorboat. The boat jumped from time to time on a larger wave and returned to its position. It wasn't good for him. He didn't like steady rocking. As a child, he suffered from motion sickness and was always told to look at something in front of him. He had to find an object and focus on it. Thanks to this, he forgot his malaise and the journey was not so troublesome for him anymore. At the moment his aim was a red building, standing at the edge of the main channel. He focused all his attention on this building and saw more and more details as he approached the shore. White window frames and small terraces, green curtains and a golden inscription 'Danieli' between the second and third floors. He clenched his fists because he had to face what he feared the most. He almost choked when the motorboat reached the shore.

"Buongiorno, signore, signora. Buona permanenza!" said cheerfully one of the men. He put their luggage on a wooden bridge and returned to his boat with a smile.

Turning his head seemed unnecessary and annoying to him. He was focused on two people, he had been thinking about for a long time, so he did not intend to interrupt the continuity of his thoughts just to please the stranger a person whom he would not remember anyway. He approached the hotel entrance and saw a high staircase with a red carpet and a huge bouquet of fresh flowers through the glass door.

He opened the door silently, but they were heard by the receptionist. The man was dressed in a perfect suit and white gloves. He bowed slightly and greeted them with a smile.

He noticed immediately, the receptionist was completely devoted to his work. A pedant who knows his job. He graduated from many foreign Savoir Vivre classes and knew the customs of different countries. He devoted his whole life to one job. He had an expensive watch but worked as a porter ... - a friend of the hotel owner. He worked despite a small amount of sleep and very early hours - in love with his work. He didn't wear a wedding ring - a bachelor and an altruist.

"Holmes"

"Buon giorno, signore. Welcome to our hotel. Unfortunately, I can not provide information about our guests, but if it is something important and you wish to meet Mr. Holmes, I can make a call ..." the receptionist grabbed the phone, but before he could dial the number, he saw a large bag that landed quietly right in front of his face on the counter in the porter's lodge.

"I booked an apartment for this name," he murmured in a deep voice, still glancing toward the stairs. He tried to look at all the doors alongside the hall, but he did not notice any clue that would facilitate his task.

"Oh, I understand. Unfortunately, new guests have access to the rooms only at nine in the morning. If you wish to wait, I suggest you have a meal in our restaurant. Our chef ..."

"Reservation is ongoing. This apartment belongs to us since midnight" he did not even try to hide the annoyance in his voice. This answer must have forced another man to react quickly. He counted on it because he was already getting impatient with the protracted conversation. The other man blinked several times and with the same friendly expression checked his words on the computer. After a few clicks, he looked at him again and smiled.

"Of course, signore. You are right. The apartment is ready and is waiting for you. Follow me, please ..."

Before the receptionist came out from behind the counter, he reached his hand toward the wall with the keys, decorated with long red tassels. There were two hooks under each room number - key for guest and spare key. He brushed one of them with his fingers, then stopped and moved on to the next pair. His eyes fell on the woman who appeared next to him with a small booklet 'Italian phrasebook', that's why he didn't notice satisfaction on her companion's face, who of course noticed his little mistake.

\- Quando ... servite le ... no, wrong ... Quando servite ... la ... colazione?

He couldn't watch her trying to talk to the receptionist standing by the stairs with patience and a smile on his face. However, he was grateful to her because she unwittingly diverted the attention of the other man. He took the bag and, taking the opportunity, leaned over the counter, quickly took the key, - the same key the man wanted to hand them by mistake - and joined his companion. She was still struggling over some sentences, so he passed her and climbed the stairs to the first floor first. He didn't have to wait long. Both the woman and the receptionist joined him, and a moment later they were standing in front of a large wooden door.

When they entered the room, the last thing he was about to do was admiring the living room. He only noticed orange rays of sunlight coming into the room through the window. The receptionist left them alone, wishing them a nice rest. When the woman enjoyed the elegant decor, he threw everything he did not need on the floor and left, leaving her surprised and alone in the room.

He had mixed feelings because the room he 'borrowed' the keys to, was right next to his apartment. The two apartments were divided by a wall, solid and soundproofed, but only a wall. How could he endure these few days knowing that the reason for his arrival was so close and at the same time he couldn't personally control what was happening to him? These doubts intensified when he finally stood in front of the double door. He put the key in the lock and silently got inside.

This time he looked around the large living room. At first, he thought he had broken into the wrong apartment. The couch was skewed, the corner of the cream carpet was rolled up, piles of documents were lying around and the windows were only half-covered. The mess did not suit the character of his brother, who valued cleanliness and order. However, all his doubts were dispelled when he sniffed for the first time. He felt two familiar smells. They were mixed, but each of them was very characteristic. A friendly and calming fragrance that made him feel at home. Second irritating, causing him frustration and traumatic memories. It became obvious to him that he had reached his destination. There was no sign of his friend or brother anywhere. Of course not. Whoever would like to spend the night in the living room, when in the other room had a comfortable ... bed.

He was afraid to look at the closed door. He knew he would be forced to enter, but he had to admit he did not know what to expect. With lead-heavy legs and a soul on his shoulder, he finally walked to the white door with gold decorations. He tried to control his reactions. He put his hand on the door handle and opened the door very quietly. He saw a large bed and clothes scattered on the floor. But it was only when he focused his eyes on two sleeping people that he felt his heart beat faster. Two bodies lay motionless between crumpled satin sheets.

Of course, he could easily find an excuse or a simple explanation for the current situation. Why would he immediately assume that something had happened between them? None of them was used to the temperature in the region and there was no way they could get used to such temperature in just over a week. Of course not. Maybe there was a party the day before and they both had no more strength when they returned and only managed to take off their clothes carelessly and throw them on the ground? It could look like this. Right?

But he knew he was fooling himself. At that moment, he regretted for the first time in his life, he had such observation skills. He could have said a lot of things, but all he had to do was look at the room and he knew his fears had become a reality and the search for excuses did not make sense.

Crumpled bedding, pillows lying on the ground, and a bed that was shifted - not much, but still. What's more, his friend, dearest friend ... had dried sweat on his skin, matted hair and was naked from the waist up. He couldn't look at the other man. He felt disgusted and knew that if he cast one glance at him, he could not bear the tension that made his whole body freeze.

He realized he lacked oxygen. It was only now that he took a deep breath and tried to relax his tense muscles. He felt it. Salty-sour smell of sex, which despite the open windows remained in the room. It was as if it had penetrated the walls, the mattress and everything around it. He couldn't control the disgust that appeared on his face. He forced himself to stand at the foot of the bed. He regretted, he had nothing to lean on, because he would have done it with pleasure. This whole situation was beyond his strength. He watched his friend and tried to understand how it happened. He sank into his thoughts and lost his sense of time.

Time passed slowly. The sun was starting to break into the bedroom, and the wind was moving the curtains. He stood still, though he had no idea what time it was and how long it would last. He stood there until he noticed his friend's breathing had deepened and his eyelids started to tremble. He held his breath again. This was the moment when he had to face his biggest fears. The most uncomfortable and stressful moment in his life ...

"This room reeks of sex."

  
Mycroft didn't know how he could describe the feeling when his brother's angry voice woke him up. Of course, he was surprised and started to panic silently, because he would never have expected, Sherlock would find him in such an unequivocal situation, even though he already had information, his younger brother planned to take matters into his own hands. Mycroft was shocked, he was sure his relationship with his brother would get even more complicated. He slowly sat down on the bed and secretly pulled the sheets on his bare chest. His discreet gesture made Sherlock even more irritated.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here?" John asked. He was completely awake. 

Sherlock looked at him. "I don't have any interesting investigations right now, so I decided to take some rest. Besides, Mrs. Hudson whined, she would like some souvenir from Venice, and you will probably forget to bring her something. I also thought to reserve a gondola to see this historic city," he said, folding his hands behind him and straightening proudly.

"Sherlock ..." Mycroft said quietly, lowering his head. The situation was tense anyway, and Sherlock's made-up excuses and his carefree tone only made the atmosphere worse. He knew they both had to talk seriously, but it wasn't a good time.

"... And by the way, I wanted to check something out of curiosity. I wanted to see how you are dealing with your roles and whether my dear brother will try to take what belongs to me again," Sherlock said, not caring about his upset brother.

John ignored his comment when Sherlock - probably unknowingly - compared him to a thing or his property because he knew he was filled with rage and disappointment at the moment. He just clenched his teeth harder and rubbed his eyes.

"Can we talk about this later when we all calm down?"

"But who is angry, John?" Sherlock asked, as if nothing had happened, and raised his eyebrows questioningly for greater effect.

"This whole situation is very uncomfortable for all of us, so I suggest you leave, Sherlock, for now," Mycroft did not look at his brother. He was trying to control this nervous atmosphere somehow because he wasn't used to being out of control. His thoughts about what he should say or how to behave mixed in his mind, causing total emptiness and paralysis.

"I'm sorry, brother, but your discomfort is not my problem. I don't remember talking to you or asking you about your opinion. Don't put your nose where you can quickly lose it," he threatened.

"Sherlock, listen to him ..."

That hurts. It burned like hell. Not because John was speaking to him very strongly, nor the way he was looking at him. It had all happened before and it was up to him whether he listened to similar advice from his friend or not. It hurt him the most because John took Mycroft's side. The same Mycroft, he didn't like at first. An old cynic who was in love with his own ego, who took everything that was valuable to him and liked to disgust his favorite things.

"If you both don't control your emotions, you can say things you will regret for the rest of your life," John warned.

Of course. He could expect this kind of drama when John wanted to sound serious.

"I know you feel hurt and I also know you won't accept any explanation at the moment ..." Mycroft tried to sound patient to calm his brother a bit. He tried to remember how to talk to him, but he knew the situation was hopeless and no argument made sense when Sherlock was so furious.

"What ?! Are you putting me in the position of an evil brother now?" Sherlock couldn't believe Mycroft dared to speak to him that way.

"What do you want to say? Do you really think I will let emotions take control over me, and I will lose the rest of respect for you? You were planning how to take John away from me from the very beginning. You consider yourself a great genius, unattainable for human weaknesses, and at the same time you fall so low, it's a shame to look at you. I'm not surprised, you have to count on people like you and you have to solve England's problems alone if you create them".

Sherlock turned his body more towards Mycroft and put his hands on his hips. John saw that the situation was becoming increasingly tense and dangerous, so he decided to stop this discussion right now.

"Sherlock, don't blame him for all the world's woes ..."

"I don't blame him for the world's woes, but mine! From the very beginning, he is like a plague to me, an unwanted shadow that follows me even at night ..." younger Holmes was even angrier. He was angry at both Mycroft and John. At his friend, because he was defending Mycroft all the time.

"Leave. Leave, Sherlock. Talking to you doesn't make sense right now," Mycroft murmured, and for the first time in a long time looked him straight in the eye. John saw Sherlock's jaw clench so hard that his teeth could burst and crumble any minute.

When Mycroft's next request met with no response, John decided to act. He threw off the sheets in one move and walked over to shocked Sherlock. He was embarrassed by his nakedness and later - after returning home - he admitted that it was one of the bolder things he did. However, now he had to stop this very cheerful scene, so he put down his pride and shame. He stood naked in front of his closest friend and pushed him out of the room. It was not a very difficult task, because the man was too shocked and probably a little embarrassed. When he slammed the door behind Sherlock, he leaned his forearm against the doorframe and lowered his head.

\---

Mycroft put on a new shirt and vest. He tried to choose completely new things so that his brother could not find a reason for greater anger. He didn't want the first thing he noticed was John's scent or his hair on his clothes. John was not supposed to be in the discussion, and nothing should make Sherlock even more furious. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and shaved very thoroughly. This was the last thing he had to do before this difficult task of talking to his brother, so he was in no hurry. He ran the razor several times in the same place to delay the meeting. From time to time, he wiped the droplets rushing down his neck with a white towel. He was focused on the upcoming conversation that's why he did not hear John, who stood in the open door and watched his movements for a moment.

"Do you know what you will tell him? I bet you have the whole discussion in your head ... "

Mycroft sighed softly and put the razor blades under running water. He moved it over the sink twice and put it on his face again.

"Conversations with Sherlock are never the same, John. I can't decide what to talk about and how it will end. You are aware, he usually takes control over the discussion and all you have to do is adjust to him and hear his complaints. I will have no other choice in this case either. Especially after what happened ... "

"Do you think he has calmed down a little bit? I know he's stubborn and it's hard to change his thinking, so I wonder if the discussion makes sense now ... it wasn't even two hours since ..."

"The sooner the better. I need to talk to him before he comes up with some other ideas. He probably laments over his fate now and murders me in most painful and in the most sophisticated ways. It will be worse if he starts thinking about ... It will be better if he focuses on taking revenge without taking action.

John nodded in understanding. He didn't know what Mycroft meant, but he didn't want to ask. When he was about to wish him good luck and leave him alone, he felt Mycroft's gaze on him.

"John, thank you for earlier. This discussion would probably continue if you didn't get rid of him from the bedroom."

"I saw desperation in your eyes ..." he joked and returned to the bathroom door. "... I'm guessing, you wouldn't decide to throw him out of the room," he added with a smirk. The older man did not answer but smiled at his reflection in the mirror. The very idea that he would stand naked in front of his younger brother made him feel ashamed. He had many complexes. Especially when he compared himself to Sherlock.

"That's why you surprised me when you suddenly jumped out of bed and pushed him out the door. You must have felt ..." Mycroft was looking for the right word. "... awkward".

"Yes. That's the right word. When I got up, I immediately knew I had to get rid of Sherlock as soon as possible because I felt your sperm running down my thigh."

Mycroft hissed in pain. He quickly threw the razor and pressed the towel against the bleeding cheek. His face turned red. John could embarrass him with one sentence in the least expected place and time. He didn't look at him, but he could have sworn he did it on purpose and smiled at his embarrassment. He finished his shave and covered the wound with a piece of paper. He said goodbye to John and left the room. He didn't even walk two steps when he heard the familiar voice of one of the employees.

"Buon giorno, signore," the receptionist said with a slight nod as he faced the older man. He smiled friendly as always and wanted to start a conversation, but Mycroft asked him first.

"Sherlock Holmes. Which room belongs to him?"

"Next door, sir," he said, pointing to the door on the left side of the hall.

Of course. Sherlock always knew which room to choose. Of course, he was aware that it was the only free apartment in the hotel, but the fact that his brother would spend the next few days just behind the wall was frustrating for him. He thanked the man and walked to the door. He had to take a few deep breaths before entering the living room without knocking.

He immediately noticed his brother, who was sitting cross-legged at a low table and was busy reading something on a laptop. When Sherlock saw his older brother, he quickly closed the laptop. He got up off the floor and sat on the couch without a hurry.

Mycroft looked around the living room. It looked very similar to the living room in their apartment, but the colors were different. The blue curtains and chair covers matched the character of his younger brother. But a large number of flowers indicated that the service wanted to make someone else's stay more pleasant. He glanced toward the luggage out of curiosity as he approached his brother.

"Why did you take Miss Hooper with you?" he asked and sat down opposite Sherlock.

"Certainly for a completely different reason why you took John with you," he murmured proudly.

The brothers were silent in a tense moment. Mycroft felt obliged to present his version of events, but he waited for his younger brother to start the conversation. He felt Sherlock's hot gaze on him. He was afraid to look up for a long time, and when he finally did, he felt a shiver on his back. He couldn't remember the last time Sherlock looked at him in such an icy and reproachful way. He felt guilty but couldn't turn back time. All they could do now was talk honestly. Sherlock was quiet as if he were aware he was oppressing Mycroft by not saying the word. The living room was so quiet they both heard someone moving in the hall and the door slamming in the neighboring rooms.

"I will answer all your questions, Sherlock." I want to be honest with you and I want you to see the situation from my point of view. I care about our good relations and I don't want to ... "

"How was it?" asked the younger Holmes, interrupting his brother.

Mycroft blinked several times without understanding.

"You said I could ask anything, so I'm asking. How was it? Freed yourself from sexual frustration? Did you manage to satisfy John? It had to be difficult for a person as self-confident as you."

Mycroft tried to maintain eye contact, he really tried. But the words of his brother were like a knife in the heart. He was even afraid to think about what feelings prevailed in Sherlock's heart. How could he answer his questions? Sherlock was the only person in his life so important to him. He loved him with all his heart. He promised he would be the only person he would care for. And now he hurt him in such a primitive and surprising way for both of them ...

"That's true ..." he said in a very low voice. "... I slept with John ... a few times. I can't turn back time. Whatever I say will hurt you anyway, that's why I'm honest with you. We spent time together, we both took advantage of moments of weakness ... I held him in my arms but ... I never did it to hurt you. It was not my intention. Your suffering is mine, brother. I am not going to take your friend from you and I want you to go through life with someone close to you by your side. I know John will be this person. I care about your well-being and I know that I made a mistake. I will always repent for this error".

Mycroft looked at his brother.

Sherlock saw honesty, humility, and a real plea for forgiveness in his eyes.

"Forgive me".

Sherlock stared at his brother for a long time. He knew he was manipulated and used by him many times, but he had to admit one. Mycroft never did anything to hurt him. He trusted him in this aspect ... to this day. He still didn't accept what had happened, he felt disappointed and betrayed.

He got up off the couch with a clenched jaw and slowly stood behind the back of the sofa. He repeated the words of his brother in his head. He analyzed every word and the way it was spoken. He also had to face his feelings and emotions. But he knew one thing. He wanted to be in his brother's place. He felt jealousy and possessiveness.

Somewhere in his head - somewhere behind, in the darkest and most dusty corner of his mind palace - was a question. And he had to know the answer. He hesitated for a long time before saying it out loud. He didn't want to sound desperate, so he asked, not looking at Mycroft and playing with the thread protruding from the back of the sofa.

"How much you have started to care about John over the past week?"


	14. Chapter 14

John was sitting on the red sofa, rubbed his hands together and stared at the wall. He wondered what was happening on the other side and what exactly the Holmes brothers were discussing. Of course, he realized he wouldn't have guessed anyway, because who would be able to do it? He saw Mycroft more than an hour ago when he left the room to talk to Sherlock. John has had a lot of time to think about since then. He was just starting to understand what had happened in the morning. Sherlock - his best friend, the closest person he lived with and spent almost all days - saw probably the most uncomfortable scene in John's life. How did he feel when he saw his friend sleeping with his brother? Shock, disbelief, disgust? He could see these emotions when he opened his eyes and looked at that slender face. But what did Sherlock feel now when the emotions quieted down a little and he had time to think quietly? Will his shock give way to hatred or his disgust turn into disappointment, or worse, rejection? All possibilities were likely. After all, this kind of situation did not happen every day.

Besides, Sherlock was his friend. Sherlock Holmes. A man with a very strong personality who expresses his thoughts directly, regardless of whether he will hurt someone else. A man who doesn't easily make friends. John was worried because this kind of situation could affect him with double strength. John knew that. He was one of the few people Sherlock trusted completely. He was someone Sherlock considered totally devoted to him. And he really was. Gaining brotherly love and devotion to a person like a younger genius was a difficult task, so John felt overwhelmed by the thought that he could destroy what they were building all these years in just a few days. If it turned out he had lost Sherlock's trust, that he had betrayed him in any way, he knew how difficult it would be for him to get back to life, which they had less than two weeks earlier.

John felt overwhelmed with thoughts of what Sherlock felt at the moment and if Mycroft was doing well. After some time, John had enough. He no longer wanted to wait idly for Mycroft's return - because there was no way of confronting Sherlock at the moment - so he got up off the couch. He felt dizzy but he walked to the door, massaging his numb thigh. When he stood in the hall and felt a breath of fresh air, he looked toward the nearby door. It was only now that he thought he didn't know if he would rather have the conversation between Mycroft and Sherlock be short or go on for some time. John was thinking about the pros and cons of this situation. But he didn't have enough determination to make the first move to check what was happening in Sherlock's apartment.

"My dear John ..."

Before a gentle voice reached his ears, he felt a warm hand wrapped around his left elbow. He looked at the short woman and her motherly smile.

"Oh, mio Dio. John, what happen? You looks pensive and pale ... Why are you standing on this hall alone?"

Instead of answering, John smiled slightly and took her small hand, and kissed her fingers.

"We had a stressful morning, that's all."

"Where's your Mycroft?" she asked, looking around. She did not do it vigorously but discreetly. She was so stylish and elegant doing that. John was impressed by her from the first meeting, and he still couldn't get over the admiration that she could keep the class by making even such small movements. Thinking about the answer, he looked toward the door to Sherlock's room. He wasn't sure if it would be prudent to say that Mycroft's younger brother had arrived at their hotel the night before, just because he wanted to keep an eye on them. He didn't even know how much Mycroft allowed others to know about himself. He wasn't sure if Francesca was privy to his family relationship. However, he decided to avoid this topic and let Mycroft deal with it alone.

"He's talking to someone. I've been waiting for an hour ..." At that moment his stomach made a characteristic sound, which only meant his body was demanding food. He looked at Francesca. She smiled and snuggled tightly into his shoulder and then pulled him towards the stairs.

"Come on, John," she said with obvious amusement. John decided to devote himself to her protection. He didn't even look back when he walked slowly down the stairs, watching out for Francesca's tiny body. Of course, he realized his excessive concern for a woman may seem strange. However, her slim body and slow movements seemed to be asking for his attention. She did not let him feel that his efforts were unnecessary, on the contrary, she smiled at his concern.

The red carpet decorated the stairs continued until the very entrance to the hotel, but John and his companion headed toward the great hall with marble floor, columns, elegant armchairs, and a decorated fireplace. John doubted that the fireplace had ever been used. However, it was not the beauty of the room that caught his attention, but a woman. She sat at one of the tables. He blinked several times to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him. _Molly? Why would she be here? In this hotel? Alone?_ And then everything became clear. John almost rolled his eyes. He walked toward Molly without a word. Her hunched figure melted into a large armchair and only a good eye could see her. Francesca accompanied him without a word. She watched with curiosity this modest girl, sitting and analyzing a book. Molly didn't turn her head until she sensed someone's presence behind her back.

"John!" she said cheerfully and immediately got up off her seat. He returned her smile, but he couldn't get as much enthusiasm as she. He had no idea why Sherlock took her with him.

"You came with Sherlock? Nice to see you again, but why are you sitting here alone?". He almost saw his friend's face when he asked the first question. Sherlock would surely point out to him that he is unsurpassed in stating obvious things as usual. However, he wasn't worried he would be treated like this when he talked to Molly.

"He asked me to leave him alone," she said, looking at John and Francesca.

"He asked you ..." John repeated, imagining what Sherlock's 'ask' must have looked like in reality. He suddenly realized Molly didn't know Francesca. "Oh, forgive me, Francesca. This is Miss Molly Hooper. She has been friends with me and Mycroft for many years. This is Mrs. Francesca Coletti, Molly. She looks after me during this trip," he added, standing between two women. They shook hands and then started a casual conversation. He listened to their discussion, but his thoughts started to wander as soon as they took their seats at the table.

_Why the hell he took Molly here?_ John couldn't understand it, and the thought of it almost droved him crazy. Sherlock wasn't a small child and he didn't need a babysitter. The more he thought about the reason, the more he was convinced that his friend had not done it without a reason. John felt a shiver when he thought, Sherlock had a hidden agenda. He looked at Molly. The girl was completely different from the people he had met here. Her body language, clothes, and behavior were all very different from what he saw in Francesca. Molly was sickly pale - though he had never paid attention to this detail until now - thin and ... ordinary. This thought suddenly hit John. He slowly turned into a man from 'this world', he started to see others through Mycroft's eyes, because he was surrounded by people who, like older Holmes, dealt with high-level events, but also made sure that they stood out in the crowd. He saw the difference between ordinary people - he was one of them - and people from higher society. He wondered if Mycroft was looking at him the same way? And Sherlock?

"Two ladies for one gentleman? John, you surprise me more and more every time I see you."

Hearing Stoner's cheerful tone and feeling his warm hand on his back of the neck, John gave him an evil look. Aaron was usually beaming and he charmed both women, though John could bet poor Molly was more impressed by him than Francesca. An elderly woman knew him for a long time and was aware of his true nature. At that moment John wanted to disappear. Sherlock? Molly? Stoner? What else? He regretted sticking his nose out of the room.

"Do you mind if I join your little group?" Aaron asked, and without waiting for John's reaction pulled back one of the chairs.

"Not at all" John replied and stood up. "This is Aaron Stoner, Molly."

Aaron bowed and grasped Molly's hand with an elegant and captivating smile. John saw the blushes on her cheeks and immediately bit his tongue because he knew Stoner wasn't worth the reaction. Especially from such a shy and delicate girl.

Aaron looked at John, checking his reaction. He still had Molly's hand on his lips, but his eyes drilled a hole in John's gaze.

"Actually, it's good, you came, because I didn't want to leave these two ladies alone."

"What? Are you going to leave?" Stoner asked, straightening and letting go of Molly's hand. He focused all his attention on John. He waited for an answer, but he didn't get it because John ignored him.

John kissed Francesca on the temple and bowed to Molly. Both women did not blame him for leaving, although their reasons were completely different. John was silent, completely ignoring the man. He was about to say goodbye, but Stoner walked quickly around Francesca's chair and approached him, grasping his arm tightly and leaning into his ear.

"Don't run away. I was hoping to talk to you a little bit. You've been avoiding me for some time now."

"And you are surprised because...?" John asked in a low voice and looked at Aaron. "We have nothing to talk about. But you have the opportunity to try what you've been training so passionately on me over the past week. You should do better with women."

John bowed to them one last time and quietly walked toward the cafeteria, separated from the lobby by the hall and reception. He felt Stoner's hot gaze on his back until he disappeared behind the wall. It was only now that he took a deep breath and sat down in a high chair by the bar. The man behind the counter smiled as he wiped one of the glasses and placed it in front of John.

"What can I get you, sir?"

John gave him a quick smile. He leaned his elbows on the counter and joined his fingers together.

"Alcohol is not a good idea at this early hour," the bartender added, staring at the glass he was cleaning with a white tissue.

John couldn't help smiling. "Strong coffee, no sugar nor milk, please."

The man nodded and disappeared somewhere in the back room, so John rubbed his face. It was midday and he felt as exhausted as if he had spent one of those tiring days in Afghanistan. He met the so-called 'energy vampires' several times in his life, but he had to admit that no one could match Stoner. It was literally a few moments in his company, and John felt depressed, tired and gloomy. He felt that Aaron took all his strength, and he couldn't help it. It didn't help that Stoner strove for his attention and company.

But at the moment John was happy, he was free from this man. He hoped he would talk to Mycroft soon. The older brother seemed to be the only person he could talk to and find out why Sherlock came to Venice. He was about to turn his head and look at the stairs when someone took his seat next to him. John glanced at the man. He had black pants and a white shirt with two unfastened buttons. John's eyes met Sherlock's bright eyes. He sat next to him and tried very hard not to look tense, but his nervous movements indicated something else. He sat in the same position as John and looked away. He cleared his throat.

John felt a cold chill down his back and looked at the cup of black coffee.

It was clear it was difficult for John and Sherlock to sit side by side in silence right now. Sherlock fidgeted in his chair and clenched his fingers together so hard, John had no trouble seeing his white ankles. The younger genius shook his head, gave the bartender a sign he didn't need anything. When he and John were alone, neither of them spoke first. The silence was interrupted by conversations behind their backs and footsteps on the marble floor.

"Are you satisfied ... with this trip? Are you ok with all these people?" Sherlock asked, not looking at John.

John turned his head and gave him a look of surprise and suspicion. "What do you want to say?"

"Nothing. I'm just curious." Sherlock shrugged. He wanted to show his indifference. But he still refused to look at his friend. "People do it often. They start a casual conversation to break the silence" he added.

"We haven't met today, Sherlock. You don't have to use one of your trained roles to talk to me ..." John sighed quietly and put a cup of coffee to his lips. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock stare at him and had a strange impression, his lips were the object of his friend's interest. He decided not to think about if he was right and continued to sip coffee, staring at the colorful bottles of expensive drinks standing on the shelf on the other side of the counter.

"I thought you would avoid me and treat me like a stranger after what happened in the morning."

"And here is your problem ..." John said and after putting his cup on the black counter, he turned to his friend. He forced him to look at him. "... you think and analyze too much. Don't treat me like one of your experiments. Just say what you want to say ... Unless what you want to say is mean and you know it. In that case, try to put it in other words ... Just because I slept with your brother doesn't mean I'm not the same John you lived with for so many years. " John tried to keep his voice from putting pressure on Sherlock. He tried to be calm and friendly, although it was difficult for him to talk about these things.

"But now I know more things and I wonder if I should thank Mycroft for that ..." Sherlock said with a smirk. John immediately sensed a change in mood and could not help but smile. He sighed with relief and returned to his previous position.

"Sherlock, I swear to God, if you do something like that again, I will do something more than push you out of the room. What I do behind closed doors and with whom should not interest you, even if it concerns someone from your family or some dead man from Molly's dissecting room. " John couldn't control his smile when he mentioned it. Sherlock's imagination also had to work because he chuckled in a low voice. "By the way ... Can you tell me what you are doing here? And this poor Molly ... What are you planning?" John turned his head and looked at his amused friend.

"I have my reasons, John."

Sherlock's mysteriousness made John feel insecure, but he was also excited. Of course, he missed his friend and his weird ideas, but he would have been lying if he said he was bored when he was with Mycroft. When he thought he would have the opportunity to spend the remaining days with the two Holmes brothers, he felt a strange excitement.

"Do I want to know them?"

"You could feel ... confused if I told you now. Patience, please" Sherlock added mysteriously, looking at John.

John narrowed his eyes but gave up. He raised the corners of his mouth and stared into his friend's eyes for a long moment. Sherlock didn't look away. Suddenly John felt a strange warmth at the bottom of his back. Something was wrong, and the change in Sherlock's face and his narrowed eyes assured him that he should expect an unwanted person. He wanted to turn his head, but the warm air in his ear made him freeze.

"It's so unkind of you, John, you left me alone and you went to find male's company ..."

He gave Aaron a withering look. The sneaky smile on the other man's face made him want to hit him here and now. His face was very close and John forced himself to stay in place. He took a few deep breaths and relaxed his muscles. Aaron seemed to feed on his stress and enjoy seeing his nervousness. He was still staring into John's blue eyes, pretending to be innocent.

"Take your hand off my back or I'll break your fingers," John growled softly. He did not doubt that Sherlock had heard his words. However, he only made sure Stoner understood that these words were addressed to him. His words worked because Aaron blinked slowly and straightened up, taking his hand from John's back. He ran his fingers over Joh's side, making him shiver.

John saw Sherlock stand up and quickly gave the other man a look from head to toe. He knew one thing - his friend learned about Stoner more in a second than he did during his entire stay in Venice. He was confirmed he was right when Sherlock smiled with satisfaction.

"Another of your friends, John?"

"Sherlock Holmes," genius introduced himself before John could answer. He shook hands with Aaron. Stoner smiled and held Sherlock's hand longer than it was necessary. They were looking at each other.

"Ah, of course ... Mycroft's younger brother. He mentioned you many times, although I had to force him to do it. I saw pride in his eyes when he talked about your successes."

"Really?" Sherlock asked when he managed free his hand from Stoner's firm grip. He was surprised and a little amused. "It's weird, I didn't think he might be able to keep his connection longer than he really needs to. Mycroft usually avoids people he doesn't need anymore."

"I think you don't know many things about him," Aaron said mysteriously.

It made Sherlock look serious again. "You can be sure I know."

Stoner stood with a pleased expression. After a moment he leaned over John at a very uncomfortable distance. He watched Sherlock's reaction as he put his hand on the back of the chair John was sitting on. He saw Holmes's nervous twitch and smiled even wider.

"But I have to agree with you. Mycroft is reluctant to maintain close relationships with the people around him. Things are different when it comes to the people he cares about. There are not many of them, that's true. However, when Mycroft has an important person, he does everything to protect them and he starts to... be more interested".

Sherlock shifted anxiously when he saw Stoner's confident and mocking smile. Aaron looked like he was going to embrace John, but he was just teasing him. John hoped Sherlock would deal with him quickly like he had done with others before. Usually, he gave one of his monologues, insulted his interlocutor and showed no remorse. This time, however, John apparently was wrong because his friend did not try to speak his deductions aloud. It was worse because Sherlock looked like someone who was defending himself against verbal attacks.

"I'm a bit surprised, to be honest. I wanted to meet Mycroft's beloved one from the beginning, but I didn't think I would be able to meet his younger brother too. I have to admit I had to wonder who you are for a moment, because ... I am sorry for ignorance ... but I forgot who you were. Forgive me, but Mycroft's achievements and his talent made me completely forget about your existence. It's nice, two people close to Mycroft's heart get along so well ... but I hope I have not offended you with my words, Sherlock, "he added, pretending his concern. However, he abandoned this false personality when he smiled in that ominous way, making John shiver. Sherlock stood with a clenched jaw. He would say what he thinks about Aaron and his behavior, but he didn't do it because of that damn promise he gave his brother half an hour earlier. The tense atmosphere went on forever. 

Stoner finally looked at glass doors in the main hall then at his expensive watch. "I think I should go. We start an important meeting in half an hour. The city is busy so it will be a miracle if I can get to the other end of the city in time. It was nice to meet you, Sherlock. I hope we will have the opportunity to talk longer in the next days ... "he said, bowing slightly towards genius, and then focused all his attention on pale John. 

"John ..." Aroner touched tenderly doctor's cheek with his lips. "... save this evening for me, please."

John watched Aaron, who gave Sherlock a satisfied look, buttoned his gray vest, and went to the door. His assistant was waiting for him with the briefcase and some documents. When they both left the hotel, John sighed with relief and looked at his friend. 

To say, Sherlock was not happy with his conversation with Stoner was like saying nothing. He carefully analyzed the man's words. He looked annoyed and upset. "Mycroft realizes Mr. Stoner knows about your deal. They both can pretend everything is fine, but my brother is in a problematic situation and I don't envy him. He will have to make very important decisions soon. Stoner is a more dangerous opponent than he thought. Mycroft might have a problem".

Sherlock's mind was clear and fast. It was his moment. He was thinking about something very important. John was happy about it because he missed it over the past week, so he gladly joined Sherlock. They were going to the lobby.

"Then why Mycroft still pretends and lets Stoner play with him? Why didn't he admit he made up this marriage story?"

"Because there are people around him who are not as smart as Stoner. Mycroft wants this lie not to be revealed. He is going to lie until he returns to London".

"My John ... You looks much better," Francesca said, stepping up with a smile on her ruby lips. Her tight dress, slim hands and hair braided in a bun emphasized her beauty. John could look at her for hours. He came up to her and offered her his arm.

"Sherlock ..." she said, looking at the young genius. Her smile was still the same.

When Sherlock approached her, she held his face with her hand and gently brushed her lips against his cheek, trying not to leave marks. John may have been surprised by her gesture, but his shock didn't last long. After all, Francesca and Mycroft knew each other very well. John could even say Mycroft liked her, and he certainly respected her. That's why it was obvious Sherlock was no stranger to her. John saw an honest smile on friend's face.

"It's a surprise, honey. Mycroft didn't say, we are have the opportunity to meets you here".

"You know, I won't miss my chance to mess up with his plans and have some fun at the same time".

Francesca made a small giggle and shook her head. Meanwhile, Molly approached them and stood next to Sherlock. She always was shy, that's why she surprised John when she came up to his friend and stood next to him very close. She almost brushed him with her body. But Sherlock's reaction was even stranger. It was true, he never made gestures that would offend women, he did not move away, he did not jerk, he only stood elegantly in place and left only when he had a reason. This time, however, he neither moved away from her at a more comfortable distance, but he also smiled at her in some unusual way. John felt a strange feeling in his stomach, so he looked away.

"We were talk about visiting the city with Miss Molly. Today our husbands are having a meeting, so maybe we show the area these lovely two, what do you say, John?"

"Oh yes! It would be like a double date," Molly said and laughed happily, grabbing Sherlock's arm. She looked at John with hope in her eyes, as if trying to convince him of the idea.

Meanwhile, he stared uncertainly at his friend's face, because he was starting to feel simply confused by the situation. _Did something happen between these two when I was away?_ he wondered. Of course, what Sherlock did should not interest him, but he felt a bit betrayed by him. People can be uncritical of their behavior, but it is very easy for them to judge others, sometimes based on understatements or small details. These kinds of people were usually called hypocrites. John felt like one of them right now. He could easily justify his behavior with Mycroft, but at the same time he was surprised by Sherlock, and yet he had no reason to believe that something had happened between him and Molly. He did not want to remain silent and look like someone with such dilemmas, so he nodded and looked at Francesca. He took her small hand. He tried to ignore Molly's joy because he still had this strange feeling that did not let him enjoy the moment.

\---

The afternoon was beautiful. The four of them walked around the city and admired Venice's architecture. They spent several hours between the narrow streets of the city and saw crowded places, besieged by tourists. They ate dinner in one of the inexpensive, but elegant restaurants in the middle of the city.

John managed to get to know the city and the surrounding area by heart, but he let Francesca take care of them that day. She showed them around the city and chose places where the crowd was much smaller, which made their walk more pleasant. He walked beside her, letting her hold his elbow. He listened carefully to her stories. He would have enjoyed more in this situation, if not for one detail. Actually two. Sherlock and Molly. They walked side by side behind him and Francesca.

John was fully aware of their presence, despite the fact, Sherlock just mumbled a few sentences since they left the hotel. Molly's delighted sighs were proof, she was completely enchanted by the surroundings and Francesca's stories. He didn't look back often, but he felt his friend's eyes on him. A hot, piercing stare never left him. It didn't change even when they all stopped and focused on a building or sculpture. John was convinced Sherlock watched him intensively. But this was not the only strange thing in his behavior. Sherlock entered his personal space, sometimes he deliberately nudged John or murmured something in his ear. When John gave him a withering and confused look, Sherlock pretended he had no idea why he looked at him in surprise.

Sherlock's behavior was unnatural and strange.

After a long walk through the narrow streets, they finally reached Saint Mark's Square. They were surrounded by people speaking in different languages. The restaurants were full of people, and all the tables and chairs were occupied. John remembered when he spoke to Aaron for the first time. It was at one of the tables he had passed a moment earlier.

Souvenir sellers were on fire. Even Francesca could not resist looking at handmade jewelry. Despite the crowd, John still felt Sherlock on his back. At one point Francesca gently released her companion's arm and approached surprised Molly with a smile. She winked at John. She wanted to let him know he would have time for his friend now. She murmured something in Molly's ear and they disappeared into the crowd. John looked at his friend. He stood still and smirked at him. His nice face and natural attitude made John sigh with relief. Yes, it was the Sherlock he knew.

"Francesca values your company," Sherlock said when he joined his friend. They walked slowly to the souvenir stands, enjoying their company.

"I have never met such a woman ..."

Sherlock didn't answer, he just muttered something under his breath. John noticed only now, they were walking side by side. It seemed a little out of place because his friend usually walked half a step ahead of him. John always had to make an effort to keep up with Sherlock's long legs. It was strange to talk to him when he was forced to turn his head sideways.

"I wish I was a little older," he joked.

"I'm glad you're not. I wouldn't show up in the city with an old man. Not to mention living with one under one roof," Sherlock muttered in a serious tone and started to look at souvenirs. John raised an eyebrow, but he took his words with amusement.

"Francesca is a beautiful woman, even you have to admit it"

John didn't get a response from him. Sherlock clearly didn't want to talk about it, so he was silent for some time.

"If you're going to buy something for Mrs. Hudson, it would be best if this thing was big and cheap, otherwise, you would spend money for nothing. Our housekeeper's sentiment lasts for the first two months, and then she hides it in a drawer. She keeps there all the little gifts you have given her. She won't get rid of a big thing so easily, "he said, approaching John even more. He stood facing his profile, examined him for a moment, then leaned even more and reached for the object lying right in front of his friend. John felt uncomfortable once again. He took the beautifully decorated mask, that Sherlock offered him and looked at it closely.

The mask was beautiful and thin, but its cool appearance caused mixed feelings for John. He ran his fingers over it, examined every fold and rough fragment. He became sad when he remembered something that hurt him with double strength now. He was silent, but he could feel Sherlock's eyes staring at him and his warm body next to him.

"So I'm just a thing for you?" he asked without taking his eyes off the mask. He didn't see the consternation on his friend's face when he asked the question, yet he felt Sherlock tense and froze without a word. "I mean ... one of the things Mycroft can take away from you. You said so yourself this morning." John looked at his friend only now. His eyes must have been filled with sadness or pain because Sherlock blinked quickly and immediately looked away. He wondered how he should answer, but John spoke first.

"Forget it. I didn't say anything." John waved his hand as a sign, the conversation was over, although it didn't actually start at all. He paid the seller, took the mask and gave Sherlock a painful smile. He turned to the square and saw Molly and Francesca. He had no intention of staying alone with Sherlock any longer because he regretted he mentioned the incident, he also felt a stinging in his heart at the mere mention of Sherlock's words. He went towards both women and he didn't have to look back, because he knew his friend was right behind him.

\---

John was sitting at one of the tables in the hotel restaurant. He was holding a glass of whiskey in his hands and was rubbing his tired eyes. He was looking at the shimmering floor and glowing crystal glasses on the tables. It was past midnight and he was like Cinderella. He came back from the ball and despaired of his miserable life. Well, not life but day. The last several hours were worse than he could have expected. A very stressful morning, Sherlock in their bedroom, and then his strange behavior, and Aaron. It all had a bad effect on him. So when he returned to the hotel and took a shower, he just waited for Mycroft to fall asleep and immediately decided to go to the bar. He had to relax. When Harry was nervous she said her best friend was a glass of strong vodka. Or six. Or ten. Whatever it was, John just decided to have a drink.

He was sitting in a comfortable chair now. It was a paradise for his aching feet and spine. The silence around him and the dim light in the room helped him forget about the surroundings. He enjoyed alcohol in silence and loneliness. He almost managed to sail away in his dreams when he felt some kind of breeze beside him. A moment later he heard someone move the chair at his table. He didn't have to open his eyes to know who decided to join him. He heard a soft chuckle, coming from the man sitting opposite him. John took his time before he opened his eyes and sighed heavily.

"I know what you thought about me," Stoner said. He put his elbows on the table and focused his eyes on John.

"I doubt it."

"You thought I am like glue ..."

"You're wrong. I can get rid of the glue using salt or soap. Acetone eventually. But you clung to me so hard, I have no ideas how to get rid of you."

Stoner smiled.

His smile was beautiful, John had to admit it. He was used to his stare so he drank some alcohol and gave him a blank look.

"Your brother-in-law is an interesting young man. How long have you been friends?"

John wanted to be braver at the moment, so he emptied his glass in one move. He looked straight into Stoner's gray eyes and licked his lips. "Stop with this bullshit and tell me what do you really want from me. I'm fed up with this game, especially with a cheater like you."

John wanted to accentuate his anger, so he set the glass loudly on the table without taking his eyes off Aaron. His grin made John feel blood running down his cheeks. The last person he wanted to talk about was Sherlock. John calmed down after a moment, took a deep breath and leaned his back against the chair.

"How did Mycroft persuade you to pretend to be his husband, John? This is obviously your relationship is fake. You pretending this relationship since not long ago. But ... how did this reptile convince you to do it?" he asked directly. He knew he shouldn't play with John any longer because he might regret it.

"Oh, so you follow me just to get evidence of our deception? I can't believe this is your way of having fun. But as you said, it will be difficult for you to find something on us. You can't convince the others to your suspicions.

"Others?" Aaron was surprised.

"I'm wrong? This is your goal. You want to destroy Mycroft's reputation"

"Oh, John ... Yes, I have my reasons, but I don't want to ruin Mycroft's reputation. At least, not like that."

"In that case, what is this all about?"

Stoner looked at him closely and grinned, making John shiver. "I have my reasons. Anyway, I will say no more. There is no fun without secrets."

John didn't like this conversation. He became more and more convinced that it would be better if Stoner did not get any evidence of their deception. Whatever he planned, Mycroft was supposed to be the main victim, but not the only one. It made him worried. Because Mycroft would only have to swallow the bitter pill of losing the game and lose the trust of some people, but the others would feel more strongly the effects of Stoner's determination. John preferred not to risk a real competition with a man as intelligent as Mycroft.

John and Aaron stared at each other in silence. John played with the glass, sliding it across the slippery table, with his fingers. Stoner sat still with a sneaky smile.

"Friends are a great thing, right? You know something about it because you and Sherlock seem very attached to each other. His possessiveness and protection towards you ... I had several friends too. Male and female. We were close, so we were interested in our work. One of my friends was a dermatologist. She liked to talk and teach others. I had to listen to these boring lessons, but now I see it was worth it. I think I should thank her ... "Stoner fell silent, watching John's reaction. After a moment he leaned toward him even more and lowered his voice.

"Do you know that some people's skin reacts differently to precious metals? Most people wear jewelry and their skin gets used to it almost immediately, but there is a group of people whose skin on the fingers is more sensitive and needs more time to adapt to a new thing. Their skin under the ring gets softer. It peels off or wrinkles, especially when the ring is new and the skin is not accustomed to pressure. "

John sensed Stoner's intentions, but he wasn't quick enough to take his hand off the table. Aaron quickly grabbed his fingers, nudging the glass John was playing with. He pulled his hand closer and gripped it firmly. With his free hand, he started to slowly slide the ring off John's finger.

"Of course, most people do not have such problems. Their skin under the ring does not change. However, people with this condition do not suffer from it for a long time. This kind of wrinkled skin effect lasts less than two months. And you and Mycroft have been married for a few years already, am I right? So you shouldn't have any marks on your skin... "he added with a smile. He kept talking but never took his eyes away from John's tense face. Only now, when he was holding his removed ring in his grip, he looked down at John's fingers with a visible movement of his eyes. John did the same. At that moment, John's hand grew cold and Stoner smiled even wider.


	15. Chapter 15

John met various people in his life - scammers, two-faced people, people without empathy. He had an ambivalent attitude towards them. Some of them irritated him, so he avoided them and the problem was solved. But there were people John was sick at the thought of meeting with. He felt cold sweat and chills. It was true, he was able to control his emotions and successfully confront these people. But it was different this time. Stoner was the only person he couldn't handle. Aaron enjoyed it when he saw his confusion and impatience. It was like he was living to torment others. He fought with people who resisted him. Fight and confrontation pleased him. He didn't let go even when he saw his victim was not on his intellectual level or was not interested in continuing to play the game. He liked to torment others in a very subtle way and at the same time, he did not reveal the goal he wanted to achieve. Aaron Stoner was a cunning, mysterious man. John was not surprised he chose someone as Mycroft as his opponent. He was a perfect player, but the icing on the cake was his behavior. That warm hand that held John's fingers firmly. A penetrating gaze of beautiful eyes. Provocative smile. A proud attitude. And this total silence when Aaron looked at him. His eyes said - everything is clear. I have won.

John remembered the moment when Stoner gently released his hand and almost silently pushed the chair away, then walked around the table and leaned over him. John's body froze at that time, he couldn't move, and the only thing he remembered was Aaron's smile and his lips. He kissed him on the cheek. It was a kiss of triumph. A kiss proving total control of the situation. It was at that moment that John's aversion to Stoner evolved into pure hatred and disgust. It was the second person in John's life, he hated this much.

Stoner left him alone in an empty restaurant room. The two waiters who were preparing tables for the next day did not look like they were paying attention to their mysterious conversation. Even the bartender, who was standing behind the counter several feet away and cleaning his glasses, avoided him with his eyes. John sat alone in an empty restaurant. It took him a few minutes before he decided to return to the apartment, as soon as he dared to get up from the table. He walked up the stairs with his eyes fixed on the red carpet, and although he saw his movements, he felt as if he was floating above the ground. He was afraid if he looked up he would see Stoner, who was walking the same way back to his apartment on the second floor. John walked with his head bowed until he finally reached the familiar door. With great relief, he pressed the door handle and blended into the darkness of the room. When he closed the door, he leaned against it with his body. He breathed deeply and only after some time he noticed the bright light coming from an open laptop on the other side of the room. He saw Mycroft, who, despite the very late hour, was concentrating on some work. He barely noticed John.

John waited for his reaction but Mycroft did not turn to him. He slowly came closer to his husband, and finally stood right behind him. "I talked to Stoner," he said, wanting to get his attention. He hoped Aaron's name would make Mycroft look at him, or at least mutter something under his breath. He had to admit, he missed his attention.

He was used to Mycroft's presence. He liked when he was close and the way he treated him. Although this would seem impossible to him a sereval weeks earlier. He waited for his reaction, but Mycroft wrote something on the laptop.

"Nothing? No response? You won't ask what happened or what were we talking about?"

Another silence made John almost doubt that he was actually talking to Mycroft. Yes, he was a bit drunk, but probably not enough not to separate reality and imagination ...

"Will you tell me at least, what happened between you and Sherlock? Why is your brother acting so strange?".

Mycroft's slight hesitation was proof that John's words were reaching his ears. But after a moment, he returned to the normal rhythm of clicking on the keyboard. John did not give up. He learned, he had to be patient when he talked to Holmes brothers.

"You won't say anything? Even - all right, John, or good night, John?"

"Good night, John." This time Mycroft's answer rang in the room so quickly that John thought he heard the echo of his own words. He blinked uncertainly several times, looking at the older man and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Mycroft, do you realize this problem concerns both of us, not just you?" John's sharp tone made the older man finally focus his attention on him. He looked at John, leaned back and bent his elbow on the back of the chair. The bright light from the screen fell on his white shirt and rolled-up sleeves. He looked more pale than usual. John was waiting for an answer with irritation and impatience.

"What problem are you talking about?"

"What problem !?" John shouted. He didn't control his voice. He raised his hands helplessly. "This problem is 6 feet 4 inches tall and has gray eyes. It follows us like a shadow from the very beginning. It's hard not to notice him. I'm talking about Stoner, Mycroft," he added more quietly and leaned his hand on the desk. The older man didn't seem moved by John's words. His face was still, making him look like a sitting marble statue.

"He has proof, we pretend this marriage from the very beginning. I saw his smirk and I'm sure he is up to something. He didn't tell me anything specific, but he made it clear, he has a plan. But what bothers me the most is your attitude. You pretend there is no problem, although you know very well if something will happen... "

"John ..." Mycroft interrupted him in a very calm but imperious tone. He smiled in that artificial way that was meant to make him understand, from now on his words would be saturated with sarcasm. "... I am extremely pleased, you care about our success and you try to help me. I appreciate it. But ..." he lowered his voice, wanting to add a more serious and darker effect to his next words. "Bishop's goal is to check the King. And you, John, you are a pawn, a point on the chessboard, which sooner or later becomes redundant. Pawn is not the goal of the game. It's not my intention to offend you by saying this. All I mean is you are the means to the goal, and this goal for Stoner and his intrigues is me. I told from the beginning you should not to focus on anything else but playing your role. You are doing very well, so do it for a few more days, and leave me the rest. Aaron Stoner will soon lose interest in you and you won't have to think about him anymore".

"So I have to pretend nothing happened and not bother you anymore?"

"If you would be so kind ..."

John was not going to listen to this nonsense any longer. He didn't know if Mycroft had offended him on purpose or told him to stop worrying about it in a very incompetent way. No matter what his intentions were, he made John decide to leave the problem in his hands. Because, why should he bother about it, if Mycroft didn't look interested or worried enough? It wasn't his problem because he didn't meet these people every day. It was the first time he pretended to be his husband and it seemed that he would never have to do it again. He was tired of watching Mycroft's expressionless face. He clenched his teeth and turned to the bedroom. When he was halfway to the room, he reached his hand out to the round table he was just passing by and grabbed a green bottle of wine. The type of alcohol didn't matter at the moment. John just needed something strong. But before he disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom, he turned to his husband for the last time that night.

"Remember, Mycroft, sometimes this pawn may be the only salvation for the King because it's true it is insignificant, but when it reaches the end of the chessboard, it can turn into a queen. And she has more options than the king and all other figures put together".

He didn't wait for an answer. He slammed the door a little harder than needed and took a deep breath. He stood still for a moment, then went to the open balcony door on the other side of the room. He was used to these calm nights at the main canal in beautiful Venice, but he appreciated the special charm of the dark room and the view of the undisturbed water only now. And although he did not go out on the balcony, he could imagine people walking outside the hotel, musicians who composed sad ballads under the restaurants. He didn't have to open his eyes to bring back all those memories. He was standing in front of the open balcony door. He felt a gentle brushing of light curtains on his shoulders. The curtains waved with the wind. He took a deep breath and felt the familiar smell. He immediately opened his eyes. It was the bland and bitter smell of cigarettes. He knew it too well.

He took a step, went onto the small balcony and turned his head to the left. He saw Sherlock, whose curly hair glistened in the moonlight. He saw his pale, slender face and light smoke coming out of his mouth. His friend stood on the balcony of his apartment and looked as if he was deeply thinking about something. Both men did not speak to each other, but they knew full well about their presence. John opened the bottle and took two large sips, not caring about the principles of good manners. He didn't have to worry about his behavior when he was with Sherlock. Not like with Mycroft's friends who would consider such behavior to be extremely reprehensible.

"Mycroft?" genius asked, although he knew what the answer would be.

"He is as difficult to deal with as you. And he is more stubborn. Sometimes I wonder how he manages to keep his relationship right so other people are not offended by his indifference and contempt."

"Professionally, John. My brother keeps a distance to everything. He doesn't build close relationships. He works with people just because his job requires it.

"Sounds like an introvert."

"It's something else. He is not shy and if he wants, he can make friends easily. Mycroft not only gets tired of the company of others, but he also despises them and considers himself someone who should not waste his time and attention on them. He is his own master and he is happy with that".

"But everyone needs someone close to them," John was surprised. He looked at his friend. 

Sherlock gave him a quick look too, then took a deep breath with the cigarette and let the smoke out into the sky very slowly, closing his eyes. "Not Mycroft. He's cold as a fish."

"Sherlock ... No matter how cold you treat others and how cold you want to be, you can't exist that way. Each of us must have someone's support."

"I know Mycroft better than he thinks, and I can assure you, John, that just as he avoids people, he hates the thought of relying on someone or needing their support and help."

John felt sorry for Mycroft. He didn't know why Sherlock emphasized his brother's flaws with such determination. Of course, John agreed Mycroft was unique. He found it difficult to understand his way of thinking and acting. But he felt the same sympathy for him as for Sherlock at the beginning of their friendship.

John thought of Mycroft's face, and some of his emotions were replaced by others. He looked at him differently now. The seriousness he saw on Mycroft's face every day changed to the sadness he hid under a stone face. He saw the longing in his sharp eyes. His distance and coldness were replaced by emptiness and sorrow. John's heart softened when he thought of Mycroft in this way and he couldn't think of his bitter words from a moment ago anymore.

"Maybe he is afraid of it? It wasn't easy for you too when you had to trust someone".

"You are right. But that was before I met you."

"You kept your distance at the beginning," John reminded him with a smile. "You didn't know how you should treat me and you didn't understand some of my behavior ..." he said, putting the bottle down. He rested his elbows on the cold balustrade.

"See, John? If you were to live with Mycroft, he would know how to behave from the start. He would pretend to be someone he is not. You wouldn't know about his true nature. My brother and I are very different."

"Maybe, but your brother needs the attention and feelings of the other person, even if he does not want to admit it ... Just like you ".

"Let's not talk about him anymore."

John heard a note of irritation and annoyance in his friend's voice, so he wasn't going to continue this conversation. Sherlock clearly didn't want to talk about his brother. John might be surprised, but he knew Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship was tense. They were different. Their behavior and way of life too. Sherlock sometimes let his emotions guide his actions. But Mycroft completely separated himself from feelings. Maybe this was the reason for their silent rivalry? Maybe Mycroft envied his brother because he could communicate with other people and let his emotions act. Maybe Sherlock wanted to treat everything like his brother, and keep his mind cool and free from feelings? John didn't know what their rivalry was, but he suspected that despite everything they both wanted the attention and warmth of the other person.

They fell silent. John enjoyed the peace and Sherlock finished smoking a cigarette. John opened his eyes only when he heard the ship passing in the distance or the laughter of people. He wanted this moment to last as long as possible. A moment without worries, stress and with his best friend at his side. He started to miss home and his bed on Baker Street, but somewhere deeply he regretted it was his last moments in this beautiful and mysterious city. It was also hard to admit, he felt some kind of sadness when he thought his moments with Mycroft would end soon ...

"How about a little walk?" Sherlock asked, throwing the tip of the cigarette over the balcony.

"Don't you have enough of this already?" John sounded more surprised than he intended. Of course, he was used to walking with Sherlock at different hours, but that day they had walked a few miles around the city and his legs slowly started to refuse to obey him.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," Sherlock replied, brushing the invisible dirt off the balustrade.

John felt Sherlock was tense as if he was afraid of his reaction to this invitation. He wasn't going to refuse him. He shook his head with a smile and looked right at the living room windows where Mycroft was working on the laptop. The scattered light indicated that the older man was still busy, so John looked at his friend again. Sherlock already knew his answer and also knew that John was not going to tell Mycroft where and with whom he was going.

Alcohol did its job. Under normal circumstances, John would have clenched his teeth and left the apartment like a normal person, but for some reason, his rational side was starting to fail when he was near Sherlock. He approached the side of the balcony that was closest to Sherlock. He put his hands on the balustrade, hung one leg over it, and set it on the cornice. He hesitated for a split second, then joined the other leg. In the end, he managed to grab the balustrade on the balcony of his friend. Sherlock held him tightly and helped him climb onto the terrace.

John saw a pleased smile on his face, but Sherlock refrained from making any comments. John followed his tall friend deep into the apartment. He felt strange. Like a burglar or a lover, visiting his beloved, but quickly got rid of these thoughts from his head. He followed Sherlock quietly, stumbling over something from time to time. They didn't turn on the light. He saw an open bedroom door and two beds out of the corner of his eye. Someone was sleeping in one of them. John was relieved to know that the beds in their bedroom were separate. He scolded himself for such thoughts. _Sherlock and Molly? Even if they..._ No, he shouldn't be interested in this.

A few moments passed and Sherlock and John stood in the main corridor. He closed the door and put the key in his pocket. They came down the stairs, past the hotel staff hanging around. John was surprised when he saw they were working in the middle of the night but he did not make any comment. They went outside and felt a pleasant wind and a breeze. John was tired and although he could feel alcohol in his blood, he knew a walk with Sherlock would be good for him.

Sherlock treated him like his guide. He was waiting for his decision where they would go. John started looking around and then saw someone standing on the balcony where he had been a few minutes earlier. He only saw the figure of the person and the glowing tip of the cigarette, but he knew it was Mycroft. He had to figure out what they were going to do, so he went out onto the terrace. John didn't understand why, but he felt sad when he saw lonely Mycroft who was watching them from above.

He didn't have to turn his head to know, his friend was waiting right next to him, with his hands behind his back. Sherlock often stood in this position when he seemed to be competing with his brother. Time, situation or place did not matter. Every moment spent with Mycroft was a competition. At least John thought Sherlock treated his time with Mycroft that way.

John nodded towards St. Mark's Square, to let him know, they will go there. He felt bad, knowing Mycroft watched them. He wanted to avoid deeper deductions, so he went with his friend to the square and sighed with relief when he was sure he was alone with Sherlock. Although the word 'alone' doesn't quite match the situation. It was three in the morning, but people were hanging around all the time. The couples and larger groups. It was rare to meet a lonely person. John felt strange even though he had walked the same streets with Sherlock a few hours earlier and saw the same things. He couldn't feel that intense gaze on him anymore, and his friend didn't stick to his back. They were calmer, more relaxed and finally had time for each other.

They walked slowly in complete silence. A mysterious night hung over the city, but thanks to the yellow light of the lanterns, everything looked almost the same as in the middle of the day. Maybe apart from narrow streets separated from the lights by tall buildings. John and Sherlock strolled around St. Mark's Square. Then they returned to the Grand Canal - the main canal in Venice - and they walked along the water until they reached the Rialto Bridge. They passed amused party people who took up free places in the bars or sat by the canals, talking, sipping strong drinks and laughing loudly. John remembered the night he and Mycroft were traveling under this beautiful and old bridge for the first time. He raised a corner of his mouth, walking towards the bridge with his friend. He had the impression, it was only a few days since he arrived, although in reality his stay was coming to an end and he was about to return home soon, to sad, gray London. So many things happened in less than two weeks. John once again looked at the gondolas standing by the shore. He started looking for a boat that looked most like the one he had traveled with Mycroft.

Suddenly Sherlock stood very close to him. It was as if he had heard John's thoughts about Mycroft and wanted to stop them as soon as possible. John flinched at the sudden move but said nothing. He decided it was another of the friend's whims.

"Sherlock, I need to rest," he said when he saw a very pleasant and secluded spot on the bridge over the canal. He felt his legs were heavy and he wanted to soak them in cool water. He wanted to take off the shoes he was wearing all day. He looked at his friend. Sherlock followed him without a word. When they were both on the wooden footbridge, John took off his shoes. He set them aside and sat down, hanging his feet from the platform. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes.

He realized, he really needed it and dreamed of such a rest. He heard Sherlock sit down next to him. They were silent for a long moment. They listened to the conversations carried by the waters and the sounds of music from nearby cafes. John rested with a smile on his face. He heard the water rushing down the stone walkways and port and listened to the waving gondolas.

"How wonderful," he muttered under his breath.

"Really?" Sherlock's voice was filled with disbelief and curiosity. John couldn't see his friend looking around, trying to understand his delight. "I don't know how shabby walls, moisture, and stench can be wonderful. And do you even realize John, what is the composition of this water? Eight percent of this water is fuel residues and human exc..."

"Alright! Enough! ... God, Sherlock ... Save me your analysis. I feel like soaking my legs and I will do it ... Could you, for a moment, stop looking at this city from your point of view and see it with my eyes? "

"I don't know if I could stand this idealized look at everything and everyone ... You are better suited to catching positives where I would have a problem with it. Besides, it's enough, if you see it and you are satisfied ..."

John sighed loudly in resignation. What else could he expect from his genius friend? He knew perfectly well, their approach to the surrounding world was radically different. Of course, that didn't mean Sherlock didn't see the beauty and underestimate it ... he just did it in his own way, and he didn't get loud about it.

"But I admit you are right at some points," Sherlock added with a smirk on his face. John was surprised and looked at a friend who was sitting cross-legged next to him with his eyes fixed on the passing boats and people talking on the shore of the canal.

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"This city has something appealing," Sherlock muttered, looking around again as if to emphasize that he actually meant what he had said.

John laughed briefly, sighed again, and patted his feet against the surface of the water several times.

Minutes went by slowly, and John was getting more and more sleepy. Calm and quiet hours spent with Sherlock made him completely forget about the hardships and stress of the previous day. He was also glad that his friend understood his needs and spoke only when he knew he could no longer stop his thoughts. They felt good in their company and they needed nothing else. John realized the sun was starting to rise, and he was starting to feel more and more sleepy. He looked at Sherlock. After a moment he stood up. His feet were damp and slightly swollen, so he grabbed his shoes and went with Sherlock barefoot.

Walking down the street without shoes, he felt every little fold, every crack between stone walkways. They were warm and smooth but irregular. John had to look under his feet because every rub against the pointed surface wounded his already sensitive feet. He missed the times when, as a small child, he did not care about the condition of his legs and did not feel pain when he walked on rough or even sharp stones.

He was smiling every time Sherlock gave a soft deduction about a couple or a group of people. He wondered how it was possible, Sherlock's deductions did not bore him. They finally left the main pedestrian street and entered one of the narrow streets. They were overwhelmed by darkness. The only light came from the shining stars in the sky, which they could see only when they were raising their heads. The high walls of buildings surrounded them. The narrow streets formed claustrophobic mazes and only a resident or someone with perfect orientation had no problem getting to their destination without walking around the same district. It was true, John had walked in this area many times, but the overwhelming darkness made his task much more difficult.

But he did not see only cons in this situation. What's more, he liked this kind of wandering because it reminded him of the stress he was experiencing while patrolling Afghan villages. The biggest advantage of this was that he had his friend next to him.

He walked with his bare feet down the stone paths. He touched the walls of buildings with an open hand from time to time. He felt his friend, who almost rubbed his body with his hand or shoulder. The stars started to slowly disappear, the sky was not so dark, and the blurred morning light started to turn everything orange. But the narrowest streets of Venice were still dim.

"Beautiful ... right?" Sherlock's voice caught John's attention.

He turned his head and saw a friend who was looking up at the colorful sky. Sherlock's words surprised him, though he had to admit that Sherlock had stunned him many times, stating things he usually didn't say aloud.

"Many people would think so ..."

"What would you call it, John? Romantic?"

John raised a corner of his mouth. He wondered why Sherlock started thinking about such things ... John wasn't sure why, but his heart sped up when he thought his friend felt confident enough to talk about his feelings and emotions with him. Sherlock revealed his sensitive nature.

"Romantic for sure," he finally said with a warm smile. They walked on in silence for some time, when at one point Sherlock stood still and looked at John intensely

"John ...".

Something in his voice made John turn away after a few steps. He stopped and blinked several times with obvious anxiety and confusion. Sherlock tried to look normal, but it was clear he was considering his next moves and gestures carefully and intensively. John saw determination and confidence on his face. Sherlock took two steps toward John, forcing him to step back and hit his back against the wall.

John was too stunned by Sherlock's sudden leap. He didn't understand what was happening and why. Sherlock's closeness only intensified his confusion and discomfort. He hit his back against the wall and let go of his shoes. They fell to the ground. Sherlock's hand landed right next to his left ear, pushing heavy shutters against the old wall. The striking shutters made a loud bang. The sound spread across the neighboring streets. John didn't control his breathing, he could hear his own heart beating. Sherlock surprised him in the least expected moment and in the least expected way. The whole situation might seem comical and ridiculous, but Sherlock did not look like someone who was joking. He was focused on John's face and his reactions. Then he looked down at his lips.

He pressed his body to John more and more, crushing him completely against the wall. They were so close for the first time, of course, apart from the short demonstrations of their strength, when John was wrestling with a friend or spontaneous and quick embrace. They stood face to face. Sherlock's eyes flickered slightly in the rising sun. His lips seemed so tempting now. They were as rosy as his cheeks. Sherlock leaned closer and closer. His full lips looked different from his brother's narrow lips. The way Mycroft touched him and his kisses were ...

John came to his senses. He put his hands on Sherlock's chest, trying to stop him. He didn't want to experience it a second time. He did not want to compare Sherlock to Mycroft, which would be inevitable. He made this mistake once and was carried away by the moment. The consequences that would await him after a kiss with a younger genius, would be much more serious. This awareness of how much he could lose made John sobered up in an instant. But despite the strength, he pressed on Sherlock's chest, he was unable to pull him away. Sherlock did not give up, his eyes were full of determination and something incomprehensible that softened John's heart. After a short fight, he stopped pushing him so hard. He tried to avoid Sherlock's kiss. He looked at his lips and his heart sped up.

"Ekhm ..."

They froze and looked at the place where this grunt came from. They saw a middle-aged man leaning out of the window. He looked like he had just got out of bed. John was sure the man woke up because of the sound of the shutter hit the wall.

The man kept his eyes on them, expressing his dissatisfaction. He was not happy with the sudden awakening and the whole situation he had seen. Sherlock didn't look upset, what's more, he didn't pull away from his friend.

But John felt his face burn with shame and embarrassment. He gathered his strength, pushed Sherlock away - not hard, but enough to get out from under his body - and after picking up his shoes, he disappeared around the corner of the building. He heard his friend, who immediately caught up with him, but he couldn't focus his mind enough to even ask something like 'what the hell was that?'. He walked with his hand pressed to his lips and for the first time in a long time wanted to hide away from the eyes of both brothers Holmes. He wanted to think about how it happened. How this straight guy, turned into -yearning-for-the-man's-touch-casanova in less than two weeks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update this story every 6-7 days now because each chapter has over 8,000 words and I need more time to translate it. Thank you for your support and comments, guys!


	16. Chapter 16

John was walking ahead, completely ignoring what was happening around him. He was stunned and did not focus on conversations coming from behind high buildings, a dazzling sunrise, the sound of passing ships or the quick steps of his friend walking just behind him. He still did not believe what had happened several minutes earlier in this cool and dark street. Sherlock Holmes, the same Sherlock who was abstaining from all kinds of intimacy, has changed completely now. John did not recognize his friend, but everything started to make sense - his strange behavior, seeking close physical contact, persistent glances or that kiss attempt. Sherlock Holmes was up to something, and that was ...

John got chills. It was absurd after all. His friend and deeper feelings? No, no, no. Or maybe it was something completely different? How else could he explain this sudden change? Why would Sherlock change his attitude towards feelings and relationships? What could make him reject his rational thinking and let his feelings take control over him? Of course, he did not doubt that Sherlock had strong feelings for him, but the idea he could try something more was absurd. Sherlock did not want to mix feelings and logical thinking and let them take control over him. So why did he try to kiss him? What did he mean by that? Was it some kind of experiment? If that was the case, John knew, only Sherlock could come up with this kind of idea.

Reflecting on the reasons for Sherlock's strange behavior and concluding that it was one of his experiences, John became more and more irritated. He wasn't going to be part of some experiment, even more, for such a delicate issue as feelings. Sherlock could try his specifics on him, he could feed him strange things just to satisfy his curiosity, he could also lock him in the room and tell him various things ... However, he did not intend to allow Sherlock to play with his emotions. John was afraid to analyze his own feelings. And there was no way he would allow Sherlock to do these experiments. He decided to protect his emotional side from Sherlock's prying eye.

Somehow he managed to get out of the maze of streets. He sighed with relief when he saw familiar buildings and the main canal. But he was most pleased when he saw other people. He knew Sherlock would hardly dare to do something stupid in front of all these tourists. He realized his friend spoke to him this whole time. He was too shocked and busy with his thoughts to pay attention to Sherlock muttering something behind him. When he finally stopped in the middle of the promenade to find out which direction their hotel was in, he felt a strong grip on his shoulders. He saw the face of younger Holmes, who was looking at him with an annoyed face.

"John, focus!" he said with a slight hint of annoyance.

John pursed his lips. He only dreamed of crawling under light and thin blanket and separating himself from the entire surrounding world, especially from the grumpy Mycroft and the crazy Sherlock.

"Could we leave it for later, Sherlock? We both need some sleep ... especially you. Admit it, how many days have you not slept?" John at least had to try to change the subject. He supposed the strange behavior of his friend was caused by a lack of sleep. At least, he hoped, because that would be some sort of explanation for his crazy ideas.

"Don't pretend we have nothing to talk about. Usually, it's you who goes on with these kinds of topics and you don't leave me alone, so now, for a change, be quiet and let me talk ... "

John was about to roll his eyes, but he suddenly saw a strange commotion in front of the Danieli Hotel. Sherlock followed his gaze and also started to look at people outside the hotel, analyzing them and linking the facts immediately. Before he could show off his deductions, John broke free from his tight embrace and walked to the hotel. He walked confidently, watching some men standing in gondolas at the marina and trying to make room for other boats. At least John thought they were doing this because he had never seen such stressed hotel staff before. He wanted to know what might have caused such a commotion. He didn't stop - to not give Sherlock the opportunity to catch him - and quickly entered the hotel. He was not interested in the next chaos inside the hotel, so he ran to the first floor, jumping every two steps on the stairs. He finally stood in front of the apartment door and went in, trying not to make too much noise. He had enough of Sherlock's strange behavior and did not have the slightest intention of discussing with Mycroft too. It was early in the morning and he thought Mycroft would be asleep, so he almost jumped in surprise when he saw him tying his tie and getting ready to leave.

Mycroft looked at him but did not stop tying the tie. His clenched teeth and pale face did not herald anything good. When John started to approach the very comfortable couch, intending to lie down, Mycroft turned to him completely. The rising sun shining through the window lighted his proud figure. He relaxed his facial muscles. John slowed his movements and slowly sat down on the couch, looking at the older man.

"Your phone, John, it rang like crazy. Someone tried to contact you," Mycroft said in a very calm tone that didn't suit him.

John was a bit confused, he blinked several times and looked around for his phone without a word. He wasn't used to this kind of Mycroft's behavior, though he had seen him manipulate people many times, showing them the side they wanted to see. Of course, they were not aware of his fake attitude. Nevertheless, everyone came out of such situations satisfied.

He was tired so his moves were quite slow. He felt his eyelids started to get heavier as if his eyes were begging him to take some rest. His eyes fell on the small table in front of the couch he was sitting on. He noticed his phone and reached out for it.

"Someone called me in the middle of the night? I wonder who ..." he asked, but before he could unlock the phone, he heard the completely changed voice of an older man.

"It was me, John!" Mycroft raised his voice for the first time. He caught his attention. John raised his head and looked at him in surprise. He tensed his body like in other stressful situations. "Could you be so kind and explain to me, what sense do you see in having a telephone if you don't carry it with you ?!"

The older man looked at John, who frowned in annoyance. What could cause Mycroft to react like this, and why did he blame him for such things? He completely did not understand this sudden outburst of anger. He unlocked the phone and looked at the screen. He saw one missed call, and Mycroft acted as if he had been trying to contact him for at least half a day.

"Mycroft, what's gotten into you? Did something happen? Just don't tell me, you worried about us because I will start thinking, I finally managed to evoke some emotions in you ..."

Mycroft did not look like he understood John's sarcasm, although he was the one to break all records in this discipline. John was sure, his malicious comment would not go unnoticed, so he was surprised when he did not receive a similar response. 

Instead of this, Mycroft clenched his teeth even more. "There is no point in having this conversation, John. There was a sudden change in plans, so you need to bring your appearance to order as soon as possible ..." Mycroft calmed down a bit and showing his total indifference towards John, turned on his heel and looked at his watch.

"You have eight minutes."

"What? That's all? I won't be able to prepare in such a short time, or at least enough to, don't embarrass you in front of ..."

"You should have thought about it earlier. If you hadn't wasted time wandering around the city all night or at least had your phone with you, you would have more time to prepare. Now, please, do more important things instead of looking for excuses. I will order breakfast in the room. When you are ready we will join the others.

Of course, he felt offended! Offended and hurt by Mycroft's words. They weren't ordinary friends anymore, but Mycroft kept an unnatural distance all the time, despite the fact that they slept with each other more than once. Maybe it wasn't a big deal to him. Maybe Mycroft did these things more often. But it wasn't so easy for John. He couldn't forget the fact, he had sex with someone like Mycroft. How could he look at his reflection in mirror and say he had nothing to do with this cold, grumpy, proud man? How could he say that Mycroft's touch did not impress him? He knew his fingers. Fingers who signed the most important documents. He knew his lips. These lips sipped tea from porcelain cups, feasting with the queen and her advisers. When he crossed that fragile line - going to bed with him - he knew there would be no turning back anymore. At least, that's how it looked from his point of view. Because for Mycroft it was apparently one of the numerous and short adventures. Who knows, maybe he did it just to make him more drawn into this whole pretending? John felt a strange hole in his stomach and couldn't tell if he was more angry or depressed.

He did not notice the moment when he entered the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, threw off sweat-damp clothes and went into the shower. The cold water started flowing down his naked and tired body. He looked at his feet, he could have sworn he saw the dirt of the previous day and last night, flowing down to the plughole. He wanted his conversation with Stoner, a strange evening with Sherlock, this kiss attempt and a quarrel with Mycroft, to disappear like that foam in the pipes. He was tired of all this. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Baker Street. He stood busy with his thoughts, and when he was starting to regain control of his nerves, he noticed his black feet. They were proof of his recent experiences with Sherlock. He felt embarrassment, confusion, and anger again. He was emotionally broken.

He left the bathroom covered in a towel and noticed prepared clothes, lying on the bed. Gray pants, white shirt, and vest. Mycroft didn't even leave him the option of choosing underwear and shoes, though John knew the older man had done it out of habit rather than care. He dressed up and entered the living room. Mycroft ordered breakfast. It was waiting for John on a table and covered with a silver lid. They ate breakfast like that almost every morning because the older man shunned the company of other people and used to eat alone, but John didn't mind. He looked away and ignored the sound his stomach made. He focused his eyes on Mycroft. Genius leaned for John's shoes, thrown on the ground. He paid no attention to him. Without a word, he put his shoes under the wall and pulled out his phone.

"All right, Mycroft. Now, tell me what this is all about," he asked calmly. He hoped it would help relieve the tension. He came closer to Mycroft.

"You don't have to know. You should only know that your presence is obligatory...". Mycroft stopped staring at his phone when he looked at John. He decided to pretend to be busy with it because it helped him not to look at John's wet hair and his shiny eyes. He knew people were tense and grumpy after arguments and didn't look at each other. They flaunt their offended pride and wait for the other person to make the first move. But John was completely different. Mycroft couldn't stand it. He didn't understand why John's behavior differed so much from that of other people after a quarrel. That's why Mycroft couldn't stop analyzing him.

"But if I have to be there, I should at least know why, don't you think?"

Mycroft sighed loudly and significantly. It wasn't time and place for pointless discussion, but again, John wasn't like other people. He couldn't give him any ordinary excuse. He took a breath and looked deep into John's eyes.

"This is a very important meeting because it is one of the last at this convention. We should have this meeting somewhere else. But for some reason, they decided to change the place. I was reckless and I promised if any meeting would take place in this hotel, I would take you with you. Don't worry. You won't be bored. Everyone will come with their spouse. "

He saw John was analyzing his words and wondered if he should find an excuse. John was tired and weak, it was difficult for him to think after so many sleepless hours and the effort he put into wandering around the city. Mycroft saw this all, he easily read John's thoughts, intentions, and emotions. He would be able to answer his questions before he asked them. He could say something that would change John's thoughts in such a way that he wouldn't even know it. He would be able to do all this if it wasn't for the damn drop. A small, single drop of water that was so slowly flowing down John's neck and collarbone, drawing all Mycroft's attention. He couldn't take his eyes off it, because John's tanned skin looked so soft and hot, even though he was standing under freezing water a moment ago. A droplet of water flowed down, leaving a wet trail and hid under an unbuttoned shirt. Mycroft came to his senses and looked up, focusing again on John's face.

"If you have any other naive questions, leave them until the afternoon when the meeting is over. And now it's enough of this pointless wasting of time. Please, have some breakfast and come with me."

He was mad at himself because he reacted to John this way. It was doctor's fault, he cast a spell on him and although he tried to break free from him, there was no way out. His only hope of regaining balance and sober thinking was to completely cut off from John for a long time. But this was only possible after returning to London. If he had to be honest, he had been counting down the days and hours for that moment. He dreamed of a day when he would not wake up next to his calm expression. John's face haunted him. He saw John every time he closed his eyes. He wanted to throw away the memories, but at the same time keep them somewhere deep, buried in his mind so that he could remember them again. He was going crazy. He believed it was the only proper word to describe his condition. He told himself it was nothing but a mere temporary feeling. It was caused only because he stopped being careful. It was dangerous to be with John. He destroyed his self-control. He started to have very strange ideas because of him. When John was close to him, he felt the feelings and emotions that he had already forgotten about. Now he understood Sherlock's behavior, he knew why his brother had changed so much since he met the inconspicuous doctor. John Watson had a tough personality that allowed him to change people, slowly but successfully. And Mycroft wasn't going to let him do the same to him.

\---

It was a hot morning, but the lobby - a place of meetings and casual conversations - was pleasant. The cold floor was comforting to John's tired and slightly injured feet. He hid in a corner, merged into a soft chair and discreetly took off his shoes, hiding his legs under a heavy table. Francesca was sitting right next to him. She saw his condition, so she did not force him to talk, only kept him company. He was extremely grateful for that, he wasn't strong enough to talk, although her presence usually made him feel better. He avoided talking with other people and forced himself to smile only when he had no other choice or did not want to disappoint someone. He was glad Francesca took over his role, although he didn't feel well about it too.

The meeting of politicians, advisers and other government figures from around the world lasted for over two hours. They were sitting behind a glass door, in a part of the hotel that John had not known before. The rest of the company - the wives, husbands, and partners of politicians - spent time talking in the restaurant. Some of them visited the hotel or gossiped at the bar. They had a good time, but for John this morning went on forever. He felt it was some form of punishment. Mycroft must have been aware that sitting idle in one place was the worst option for John. This senseless sitting for hours was supposed to show him who ruled in their relationship. Francesca saved John's situation. She was always with him and she looked after him, so it wasn't the worst possible punishment. That's why Mycroft's plan would fail, if not for one detail - John was terribly sleepy and tired. He had not slept in almost thirty hours, and his only desire was to get on the bed, close his eyes and cuddle up in the big, soft pillow. Such a lack of sleep would not impress him a few years earlier, because life in the army taught him that he could carry out his duties without rest. Sometimes two hours of sleep was enough for him, for the whole day. However, this skill faded with time, as did the other talents he acquired in Afghanistan.

"My John..."

He felt Francesca's delicate and cool hand. Her skinny fingers tightened slightly on his arm. She looked worried and was silent for a moment, so he took her fingers and kissed the back of her hand. He sank back into the chair, smiled and rubbed his tired eyes.

"I can't looks at your face, John. I mean ... you are tired and I feel sorry for you. What happen, my dear? Was Mycroft unpleasant, you had a hard time? It's not nice to ask about such things, but I'm worried because you look like you are suffering. You and him, "she said softly, nodding toward the glass door.

John involuntarily looked at the men. They sat and discussed but he couldn't hear them. "We had a little quarrel, no big deal. Sometimes it's difficult for us to get along." John didn't even try to hide the reason for his bad mood. He knew she was as intelligent as the two Holmes brothers, though she didn't say many things out loud. She knew the word 'tact', which was a nice change from Mycroft's sharp and cool way of being. Not to mention his younger brother. The present moment was a perfect example because even if Francesca suspected the cause of their bad moods, she did not speak and did not continue the topic. She smiled warmly and put her fingers just under John's right ear.

"You were in a hurry ... Icy water is not good for skin in the morning, John," she said, amused, and gently scraped off the dried shaving foam from his neck.

Her touch reminded him of his mother's. It was affectionate and loving. He wanted more. He tilted his head and slightly cuddled into her pleasantly cool hand. He watched her with a smile and thought about the phenomenon of saying that opposites attract. Mr. and Mrs. Coletti differed so much and yet they loved each other. She was warm, delicate but dominant, he stood a bit in the shadow of his wife. He was nervous and rarely lost his temper at home, as Sherlock noted. How could two different personalities live together for so many years? Perhaps for similar reasons he was attracted to the Holmes brothers? John was thinking very hard when he felt someone stood next to his chair. Francesca looked up and smiled slightly, not letting go of John's hand. He looked away and noticed Molly. She was a little nervous and embarrassed.

"Molly? I thought you went to see the city," he said and started to get up from the chair, but she quickly took the chair opposite him. She did not want to attract the attention of the surroundings.

"That was the plan," her voice was so soft that John and Francesca had to strain their ears.

"Mr. Stoner definitely keeps his promise and will spend the rest of the day with you as promised," Francesca said. 

John looked at her with frowns. "Aaron? Are you coming with him, Molly?" He asked, looking at the girl.

"It was his idea ... I couldn't ... I wouldn't dare ask for such things."

It was obvious. She was not known for her courage and confidence. John knew she had a weakness for dominant men and was too gullible. A few compliments and sweet gestures were enough, and her sensitive heart was beating faster. Although it really belonged to Sherlock for a long time. John felt sorry for her and sometimes regretted that she was so naive. He leaned to her and lowered his voice.

"Molly, be careful about this man. Do not let him fool you."

He didn't have to turn to know that Francesca was nodding her head in agreement. Molly was even more confused and he looked down.

"And where is Sherlock?" he asked in a normal tone and discreetly looked for a friend.

Molly straightened up when she heard Sherlock's name.

"I saw him in the morning, he was very ... tense. He murmured something under his breath and walked around the room. Later he went to bed ... He woke up only a few minutes ago and immediately grabbed his laptop ... He did not want anything to disturb him, that's why I left him alone. " She added the last sentence a little quieter and without the smile, she used to have when she talked about Sherlock. John immediately realized that her words were not entirely true. He could bet his friend hadn't said a word when he woke up and ignored Molly completely, wanting to let her know she should leave him alone. Yes, this was the most likely reason why she decided to leave the apartment.

However it was, John did not comment on Molly's words. But he was more and more tired of the thought that both brothers always did what they wanted and treated other people as they wanted, regardless of their feelings. Both Sherlock and Mycroft used other people. They manipulated their emotions and feelings to reach their goals. Maybe it was easy with Molly. She was awkward and easy to manipulate. But John wasn't going to let them treat him that way. He was not a clumsy fool. He managed to learn how both brothers worked. He decided not to change his mind and see what effects it would bring.

He talked with Molly and Francesca for some time. Later, he discreetly put on his shoes and said goodbye to both women. He walked toward the separated room at the other end of the hotel. Lack of sleep and fatigue made him feel different, unpunished as if he were dreaming, and his decisions and actions did not carry any responsibility. He was pissed off by Mycroft's attitude. He couldn't understand why he told him to sit still for several hours. Was it a kind of lesson or punishment? He rebelled against this. What else could he do? Should he wait politely in silence for more orders? Oh no. There was no way. Especially not with irritated John Watson.

He finally stood in front of the big room. It was separated from the hall only by glass doors that suppressed all noises and conversations. The glass was bulletproof, John was more than sure, and it was cleaned with stunning accuracy. No streaks or cracks. Ministers, advisors, and politicians sat on the other side of the door. They were talking at a long table filled with piles of documents. Mycroft was facing the lobby so it wasn't long before he noticed John. The doctor saw he was tense and irritated by the protracted negotiations. When Mycroft saw his fake husband he tensed even more and looked at him sharply. John crossed his arms, then pointed at himself and the floor above. He wanted to tell Mycroft that he was fed up with pointless waiting for nothing and was about to return to the apartment, and more specifically to their bedroom. The older man clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes slightly as if threatening him. John pulled a phone out of his pocket and pushed it against the glass. Meaning - Tell me to stay. He wanted to make Mycroft react. React in any way. He wanted to see if Mycroft would behave differently than usual. If he could do something against himself.

It wasn't like he enjoyed upset Mycroft. He just wanted to show that he would not let him treat him that way. He didn't want to be like some object that Mycroft could show off to others. He was supposed to pretend to be a loving husband, but that doesn't mean he would lose his character. John wanted to make Mycroft show his other face than what he presented to his surroundings. He wanted to get him up of a comfortable chair, ignore the prying eyes and leave the room. He was convinced Mycroft had such authority he did not have to ask anyone for permission. He wanted to mess up his plans, just like an older man did. However, nothing like that happened. Mycroft continued to sit with a murderous look on his face. He didn't even mind the mocking smile of Stoner, who was watching their confrontation. John gave up. He put the phone in his pocket and went up the stairs to the apartment.

A moment later he lay comfortably on his stomach on a large bed and enjoyed the delicate scent of the pillow. He didn't think about Mycroft, he didn't think about Sherlock. His thoughts drifted away, and he felt his body weaken. He got rid of uncomfortable shoes and nestled into the soft mattress of the huge bed. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

John was a heavy sleeper. When he was tired he could only be woken by the sound of a pager at work or strange smells coming from the kitchen, where Sherlock experimented with various substances. However, this time he woke up when he heard soft tapping and very quiet noises from the phone. It sounded like somebody's moaning. He opened his eyes and it took him a moment to figure out where he was. He was still in the same position, but he wasn't alone. His friend lay next to him and was looking at something on his phone. John couldn't see what Sherlock was watching but he wasn't actually interested. He focused completely on his friend's face.

"What time is it?" he asked in a voice muffled by the pillow. To his surprise, Sherlock froze in place and quickly turned off the website he was watching with such curiosity just a moment earlier. It all took literally a second, and John wondered what his friend was hiding.

"It's twelve past two. Three hours of sleep are not enough for you, John. You are no longer a teenager, your body will demand more attention and care," Sherlock said, focusing on other websites. 

John smiled and buried his face in the pillow even harder. "I got a reprimand from Mycroft. He was mad at me. I can't get along with him lately ..."

"I got a different impression yesterday morning," Sherlock said before he could help it.

John knew his friend was shocked and mad about recent events.

Sherlock probably realized he shouldn't talk about it, so he felt silent for a moment. "Don't worry about him, John."

"I'm not doing this ..."

"Yes, you do. You started to care about good relations with my surly brother, although you wouldn't have thought of it before. Treat him like you did before and don't trust so much your emotions that have overwhelmed you in the last two weeks. I assure you, only you appreciate these memories and only you think about it seriously. Mycroft will forget about it as soon as he puts his ass in a comfortable chair in his private plane. He is not worth your commitment, annoyance or deeper reflection".

"Sherlock, I ..." John hesitated and sighed. He was looking for the right words of denial. The last thing he dreamed of was a long discussion with Sherlock about his feelings. They thought differently about them. He could convince his friend, this time his advice was worth nothing, because who of the two knew better about emotional matters? But he realized this was not the time and place for such hard conversations. Besides, he wasn't sure how he felt at the moment. He lay in silence and let his tired body rest a little longer.

"I don't mind sharing a bed with you, but take off your shoes at least. Mycroft will go crazy when he sees these dirty marks on fresh sheets, Sherlock." John didn't even raise his head, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw streaks on the white, shining bedding.

Sherlock shrugged as if it didn't matter to him at all. And of course, it didn't. It was Mycroft's place after all, and if he had the opportunity, he wanted to irritate his pedantic brother a little. "If it bothers him that much, he can sleep on the couch. You should be okay with that," he added with a small smile.

John sighed loudly and chuckled. He knew Sherlock liked to annoy his brother. He was convinced Sherlock did it on purpose, but John didn't care. Defending one or the other brother started to tire him, so he gave up and closed his eyes with a smile. He fell asleep for the second time listening to the friend's quiet breaths and strange noises coming from his phone.

\---

It took several more hours for John to regenerate enough. He was able to open his eyes without forcing himself too much. The sun was still shining outside the window, but he had no idea if it was still the same day. He lay in one position - on his hands for a long time. His hands pressed against his empty stomach made him feel bad. He had the feeling that he would vomit. He didn't feel half his body and the left side of his face. He turned on his back, took a deep breath and tried to ignore hunger. He managed to get out of bed somehow. He stood on his limp legs, smoothed his disheveled hair in one move and straightened his crumpled clothes and buttoned the last two buttons in his gray-white vest. His tiredness disappeared almost as quickly as Sherlock, who was not in the room. John had to eat something, that was his priority. He thought if he wasn't in such a dignified hotel, and the dishes were not so exquisite, he would buy a large portion of chicken, he saw in a bar, two streets away.

He left the bedroom quietly and saw Mycroft - his terrible husband, who was soon to be a divorcee. He was sitting in his chair by the open laptop and talking to someone on the phone. He was busy, so John had no idea if his presence was noticed at all. He stood for a moment by the open door, but there was no reaction from the older man.

"The documents should be ready yesterday. If you are unable to arrange them in time, we will have to consider whether our further cooperation makes sense." Mycroft's tone was cold and very official. John thought he must have sounded like that whenever he worked. Mycroft leaned over the laptop keyboard and started writing something with one hand, his other hand still busy with the telephone.

"You have time until evening. I would advise you not to let me down a second time." Mycroft hung up on his speaker without saying goodbye and returned to work. He still didn't look at John, so the doctor walked around the couch and went to the silver table. He was happy when he saw the roast with vegetables. It was still quite warm, which meant Mycroft couldn't order it more than a dozen or so minutes earlier. John looked at the plate with a smile and, ignoring the rules of good manners, grabbed the cooked carrot with two fingers. He ate the vegetable and licked his fingers. He looked at Mycroft out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to know if he had seen - how he would call it - his disgusting and uncultivated behavior. He was disappointed because Mycroft ignored him and stared at the laptop screen.

"You will hurt your eyes, Mycroft. You shouldn't sit so close to a laptop."

"Thank you very much for your concern, John, but I can take care of myself. And I believe the ophthalmology was not your field of study."

John gritted his teeth and almost rolled his eyes. Mycroft was angry but he tried to control himself. His voice and attitude indicated he had a very difficult time lately. John was grateful Mycroft was still trying to act like a gentleman, and this time he didn't take his frustration out on him. However, John could not stop worrying about his health. He knew Mycroft would certainly ignore his last question, but he had to react.

"I understand. You don't want to take my advice. But it would be better if you at least took longer breaks from working on a laptop." Suddenly John thought about something important. He crossed his arms over his chest and took two steps forward. "You haven't sat in front of your laptop all last night, have you?" he asked, because this kind of possibility was very likely. John saw him when he returned to the apartment after talking to Aaron. He saw him later when he slipped out of the hotel. His words made the older man turn around in his chair for the first time and slung his arm over the back of the chair. He stared at John with cold eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I know my limits and I know when I must give up. Unlike others. And that's why I don't wander around the city until the morning and I don't taste my friend's saliva, among empty streets... ". The bitterness in his voice was unbearable. He said what he thought about John's behavior before he realized it was wrong. He fell silent for a moment and went back to writing.

So that was the problem. John started to understand Mycroft's bad mood and his bitter comments. He knew what irritated the older man so much and why he couldn't talk to him calmly for the last hours. It turned out that everything was about Sherlock. He was the reason for their quarrels. John wasn't going to talk anymore because talking about Sherlock was not a good idea at the moment. He was angry when he thought that he was under Mycroft's observation and his people were following him step by step even in the middle of the night. He felt robbed of privacy. He didn't even want to think about what his spies had told him, what information he had and what he deduced except for that kiss, or rather just a kiss attempt. He didn't feel like getting nervous and starting another quarrel. He loosed his crossed arms with resignation and shaking his head, he walked toward the front door.

"John, if you leave this room now ..." Mycroft turned quickly toward him as if reading his thoughts and sensing what he wanted to do.

"Then what?" John asked. He was angry and a bit curious. He stood still with his hand on the door handle. Mycroft saw his challenging attitude. He was fed up with this protracted discussion too, and was slowly losing his patience. He got up from the chair and walked over to John.

"For God's sake, John! Act your age! You are no longer a child. Running away from problems won't solve anything! I know you leave Baker Street after quarrels and this is your way to relieve tension, but you can't do it every time! " Mycroft couldn't stand it. For the first time, he let negative emotions prevail over him in John's presence. But John didn't look scared. He stood with a hard face, tightly closed lips and frowns. He stared at him, but he didn't seem like he was about to leave the room.

"It worked very well with Sherlock so far," he murmured.

"But I'm not Sherlock!"

Echo spread around the room. Mycroft's words, his voice filled with bitterness and desperation penetrated the walls. The room was quiet for a long long time. Mycroft was the first to break the tension. He sighed. He rubbed his temple with his fingers and put his other hand on his hip.

"Why, John? Why did you decide to confuse my mind and my plans? You should behave as we agreed before arrival. You agreed and you only had to listen to the instructions," he said a little more calmly.

"Mycroft, marriage is not about following orders and unconditional listening to the other party!"

"You forget, our marriage is fiction."

"Even if it is and this ... thing..." John pointed his hands at the space between himself and Mycroft. "... started and will fall apart by a handshake, it does not mean I should be at your every beck and call. I have my character, personality and free will, Mycroft! I have my mind and a different opinion. You think people would believe in obedient John Watson, your husband, who leaves all his decisions to you and cannot even decide with whom and where to eat dinner, or what to wear? "

Mycroft knew John had to pour out all the bitterness and desperation that had accumulated in him during this trip. John was in a new place, he knew absolutely no one, and the only person he could depend on in the first days was him. Of course, he felt lost, nervous and frustrated. His bad mood was also caused by Stoner. Mycroft knew he had made a mistake. He knew he should be more interested in John and should protect him from all these things. He understood his anger. But he also had a lot to say.

"I don't forbid you to be yourself, I just want you to stick to the plan and listen to what I say to you ..."

"So I have to sit quietly in the room because you want it! I can't talk to some people because you don't want it! I can't move my finger or say something aloud because it will mess you up with your plans! Mycroft ... Why are you like this? I don't understand your mood swings, I don't know why you get angry with me for a reason," John said with resignation. He ruffled his hair and looked at Mycroft.

"You were different before. Yes, you always kept everything at bay, you were cool and inhibited. But it's even worse now. You look offended at everything. What happened? I could get along with you until Sherlock came to Venice. It because of him you are more introverted? Are you so inaccessible and cold because of him? " John's voice was filled with compassion, and Mycroft couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand it when someone felt sorry for him. He clenched his teeth and looked at John the way he looked at him when he was about to leave the room.

"My brother has nothing to do with it," he snarled warningly, but John knew his words were not true. Everything made sense now. This strange rebellion, avoiding uncomfortable situations and conversations, pretending that nothing has happened in the last two weeks. Mycroft was jealous of his brother. Who knows, maybe even ashamed of what he did to him? Suddenly a question appeared in John's head and he had to know the answer.

"Mycroft ... do you regret it?" he asked a little more carefully and calmly. The older man stared at him blankly, as if wondering if he understood the question correctly and whether it would be about their relationship. John had to know his opinion and wanted to know if Mycroft could turn back time, he would make other decisions. Mycroft didn't answer but looked away. John took this as an unambiguous answer and let his emotions take control over him. He leaned slightly towards Mycroft and raised his finger, as he used to do during emotional conversations with Sherlock.

"Listen to me ... I do not care if you have any feelings or not, but I will not let you treat me like your puppet you will play with for a moment and then throw into the corner because you will not need it anymore. I won't be at your beck and call. We've agreed to work together, but it should work both ways! I know you don't care about other people and their feelings, I have too much evidence to believe otherwise! " John was starting to raise his voice, but Mycroft didn't move even an inch. He looked up and stared at John, who did not care that all the windows in their apartment were open and people outside could hear them.

"Don't treat me like I was an idiot - although you certainly think of me that way anyway - you won't be able to intimidate me with your contempt or power! You can be the head of government, you can rule your subordinates and force people to bring you sugar from the other end of the world, but I will definitely not be one of them. I am not surprised anymore, you are alone and the only person close to you is this poor assistant of your who must bear your changing moods! " John was about to leave the room, but he took a half step, then stopped and turned again. He was about to bite his tongue because he knew he shouldn't do it, the anger was so strong that he couldn't help it.

"And you know what? Your loneliness does not surprise me at all. And I bet it is not only your choice. Everyone moves away from you, so you decided to be alone and hide in the shadow, right? You focused on work because you feel, you are not dealing with normal relationships with people and you could not gain and keep their warm feelings for ... "

He saw, he hit the nail on the head. Mycroft started to approach him with something that looked like pain and darkness in his eyes. His red cheeks, clenched fists, and slightly shining eyes were proof of his hurt feelings. John felt he should shut up, he wasn't a cruel man. He wasn't like the Holmes brothers who hurt people with their words. However, Mycroft's proud attitude was even more challenging for John. He wanted the older man to be honest with him at least once and to throw off the mask he had cared for and put on his face every morning.

"John, don't push your luck." Mycroft's dark tone would alert everyone, but not John. They had known each other for a long time. It was not a deep relationship and each of them had their secrets, but Mycroft knew John would not be intimidated. Also, he was very agitated by his anger. Mycroft stood three feet from him, but John didn't seem to notice it at all.

"This is my lifestyle. My loneliness should not interest anyone. It was my choice."

"Oh really?" John asked in mock surprise, leaned back and crossed his arms. "So why did you lie about it? Why did you persuade everyone, you managed to get married and you are not alone? Are you so afraid people will feel sorry for you? You are so lonely you don't want to look like a lame duck who doesn't can make someone fall in love with him? "

John was pressed against the door in an instant. He was completely surprised by Mycroft's sudden move. He grabbed John's throat roughly, pressed his body against the door and attacked him with a kiss. He put his tongue in his mouth. John let out a groan and tried to push the older man away first, but after a while he grabbed him by the front of his clothes and pulled him closer, making the kiss almost painful. Mycroft's hands held his head in one place, dug his fingers into his temple and massaged his blond hair. It was a kiss full of roughness, desperation, and lust. John felt the man's breath, hot cheeks, and trembling body. Mycroft completely lost control. His trembling hands tried to stop John. He didn't want to let him think more about all the things he had shouted a few moments earlier. He kissed him with his eyes closed tightly as if he were afraid to see his reaction.

John pulled him down, making the older man groan. Mycroft put his knee between his legs. He pushed him harder against the door. His strength changed in passion and even greater desperation. He wasn't kissing him just to silence him now, but because he wanted to. He wanted to feel John's taste and the warmth of his skin. John let him guide him and didn't even realize they were halfway to the bedroom. They crashed on objects standing in their way, but their lips did not break away even for a moment. John slammed his back against the bedroom door, but before Mycroft could open it, they felt a very familiar smell coming from behind the open windows. It was the smell of cigarettes that Sherlock loved so much. He didn't even have to say anything because John and Mycroft knew about his presence. They both froze and looked towards the open window. They both panted loud and heavy. John felt Mycroft's head on his right shoulder.

"Thank God," he muttered softly. 

His words made John's blood boil. What did he mean by that? Was he relieved someone interrupted them? Then why did he even start it? What's that supposed to mean? John had had enough. He clenched his teeth and when Mycroft pulled his forehead from his shoulder, he punched him in the stomach. The older man opened his eyes wide in pain and surprise, then bent in half and slowly fell to the ground. All he heard was John's footsteps and doors slam.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note at the end of the chapter.

Aaron knew if he wanted to achieve his goals he needed sacrifice. Not a literal sacrifice with a splash of blood on the walls, or a tight loop on the throat. It was about people who provoked others with their naivety and innocence. If Aaron wanted to succeed, he would have to sacrifice someone unimportant, someone, after whom he would not feel remorse, even if such a person would be hurt. He knew this from an early age, so he managed to learn how to manipulate human feelings. But it was hard if people were as intelligent as he was. Mycroft Holmes for example or his little brother. To reach someone like Mycroft, he first had to find and then hit his weak point. And although he immediately realized that Holmes's marriage was mere fiction and he knew his weakness, his plans changed as soon as he saw Mycroft's chosen one, and John became an end in itself. However, as it turned out John's weak point was Mycroft's younger brother - Sherlock. Interestingly, he returned the feeling to the doctor just as much. So, if Aaron could not achieve his goal in the chosen way, he had to try to do something else and reach for more sophisticated and less suspicious methods, but not necessarily less unpleasant.

That's why, he was now sitting on the beautiful St. Mark's Square and stared with a forced smile at the pale face of Sherlock's boring companion, Molly Hooper, who was sitting on the other side of the table. She was eating cakes, trying not to look like a greedy eater, although Aaron was perfectly aware of her weakness and he silently laughed when she tried to convince him of her good upbringing. She wasn't interesting at all. Quiet, modest ... and common girl with uninteresting work and no perspectives. She was the total opposite of what attracted him to women. He hated ordinary people, he was annoyed by conversations about life and he was tired of hearing about their problems. He avoided this kind of meetings unless he had a goal. At first, he couldn't understand why the younger Holmes was interested in Miss Hooper. There was interesting about her, and her appearance did not improve her situation, which is why her presence at Sherlock's side seemed strange to Aaron. It took him a long time before he realized why she had really come into the hotel and lived in one apartment with young Holmes. Stoner was smiling under his breath because he didn't think John's friend would be so crafty and would do such things to achieve his goal. But he was not surprised Sherlock decided to do it. He even had to admit, he admired him for his courage. He knew the price Sherlock would pay if his plan failed.

Aaron didn't even try to pay close attention to what his companion was saying. She was talking about her work, ex-boyfriends, something about Venice and Sherlock, but he was completely uninterested in it. He smiled gently, giving the impression of an attentive listener, stared deeply into her dark eyes and held her hand, dreaming of the end of the meeting. Miss Hooper was fascinated and captivated with him. Who would not be? Hot glances, constant touch of hands, words gently whispered in the ear. He almost felt sorry for her. He was a manipulator and almost regretted that he was able to use this kind of person. He didn't even have to try to make a good impression on her, but it was getting easier every hour. He nearly lost his enthusiasm for further play. The girl lived in an imaginary world of romanticism and perceived positive qualities in each person. It was very naive and stupid of her, but Aaron had no intention of making her realize how unreasonable her dreams were. He would need just a few sweet and blunt words and she would fall into his arms. She bored him, yet he decided to practice his skills on her.

"... that's why my dad always cheered me on and was happy with every success I have." These were her first words that Aaron had understood since he had completely shut down his thoughts and hidden in his mind. He didn't show it. What's more, he brought his chair closer to Molly, and leaned toward her even more, squeezing her hand.

"I'm sure he was very proud of you. And I'm not surprised at all."

He raised his fingers and brushed a strand of her hair back. He tries to do it most intimately and romantically. It worked. The girl blushed and looked away.

"... having such a wonderful and beautiful daughter, I would like to brag about her myself. Although this may not be entirely true ..."

Molly looked at him in surprise. He had to refrain from laughing when he saw her face. So naive, so silly.

"... because if you were my daughter, I couldn't do something like this" Aaron brought his face close to her cheek and left a soft kiss on her skin. A moment later he did the same with her ear. He felt her tremble, so he ran his tongue over her ear and sucked lightly on it, causing chills on her body and making her blush.

"Have you thought about my request, honey?" he asked in a whisper, nudging her ear with his nose. He knew she would agree with whatever he asked. He was already tired of this pretend perfect-man, so he decided to focus on his goal and end this date. He was surprised when Molly froze instead of giving him an answer. He slowly moved away from her to look at her face. He wanted to understand the reason for her sudden silence.

"You know ... I'm not convinced of this idea. Sherlock and John are my friends ... I couldn't ... I don't know if ... if I did it, I would betray their trust ..." she said quietly as if she was afraid of his reaction.

It was a surprise. Aaron couldn't say a word for a few seconds. Did Miss Hooper have her own opinion and enough morality to resist his request after all? What happened, she showed him the side of her personality she was hiding and perhaps she was not aware of herself? ... Ah. Of course. It was obvious. Why didn't he think about it before? Molly cared about Sherlock, even if it was obvious that her feelings were not mutual. When he met John for the first time, his people and agents found all the facts about the doctor. The most fun for him was that they did it right under Mycroft's nose. He learned about John's preferences, his work, place of residence, family and friends. He found out who Sherlock was to him and how much they had in common. Poor Molly Hooper fell into the trap of unrequited love and although she knew her feelings for Sherlock did not make sense, she was still unable to forget or get rid of them. The sentiment was very debilitating. It was a terrible weakness, but it can also be a power. He had proof in front of him. Molly might have allowed him to manipulate her, but her loyalty was as strong as her other feelings. Oh well. Aaron realized he had to try harder. He wasn't worried about it, because he knew that sooner or later he would get his way. And now at least it won't be so boring for him. In the end, he enjoyed every challenge, even a small and trivial one like Molly Hooper.

"You're amazing, you know it, don't you? You're cute, smart and so sensitive. But you don't have to worry about it, darling. I really don't mean to hurt anyone. Absolutely not! This is not about me, you or Sherlock. I only care about the truth, and I don't want Mycroft to suffer. I just ask you to let me know if you see something weird or surprising. I know, you also care about your friends' happiness, and I want to help them achieve it. Does it mean that everything will always be beautiful and colorful? Of course not - but after a bit of bitterness everyone will feel the sweet taste of happiness. It will be a time full of warmth and love ... ". Aaron fell silent and stared at Molly's shiny eyes. She stared at him with dew cheeks.

"... and that's what you want, right? I know what you desire and I would love to help you achieve it ...". He caught her fingers in his gentle embrace and kissed the top of her hand, trying to look like someone humble begging her to comply with his request.

"... even if I have to do it, against my own feelings ... I have for you," he added, wanting to make sure she really believed him. He was not surprised by the effect of his own words when the girl let out a shaky breath and took his face in her hands.

"You are wonderful. You take care of my friends, and you also care about me. I'm so sorry, you are suffering because of me ..."

Aaron almost choked on his own laughter but managed to keep his face serious. He saw the honesty in Molly's eyes and her passion, which made him even more amused. It was hard to believe she changed her mind so easily, hearing some sweet lies.

"... I will do everything to make you happy."

"So, you do agree?" he asked, trying to hide his smile.

Molly nodded. "Yes. If it will make us all happy, then yes."

Aaron knew he couldn't take it anymore. He reached his goal and wanted to disappear in the crowd of tourists, leaving Molly behind. However, he had to seal the deal and his success. After a long silence, he looked on her lips, licked his lower lip and kissed Molly in such a way that she did not doubt that she had made the right decision. He didn't care about the people sitting next to him. It was only satisfaction that mattered ... and a moment of the kiss because even if he disliked her, he must have admitted the kiss gave him pleasure. Like sex. He hoped he would have some fun in the coming days. He was so pleased with the effects of his actions that he came to his senses only when he almost pushed his tongue into her throat. The girl was very embarrassed, but she did not try to stop him. He saw this situation as new to her, and no one had ever shown her feelings in such an open manner in the presence of so many unknown people. After a few minutes of a passionate kiss, Aaron pulled away from her hot face and looked into her dreamy eyes.

"Let me know when you have something. I will wait ..." he whispered and kissed her again. Before she knew it, he got up from the chair and disappeared somewhere behind her. She turned around, but he went into the crowd of tourists. He knew this was only the first point on the plan, but how important it was! Now everything should be easier. Molly was captivated by him, John was confused, and Mycroft lost his confidence and didn't know what he wanted. Now, Aaron just had to wait for the results, so he walked ahead with a confident and cheerful face. He was so pleased and focused on his thoughts, he did not notice John, who passed him in the crowd, going in the opposite direction.

John was full of anger. Because of Mycroft, himself and the whole sick situation, he got involved in because he had not thought about the consequences before. That was the truth. Yes, before he made the decision - to pretend to be Mycroft's husband - he tried to analyze all the pros and cons, but he did not do it seriously enough to avoid similar situations. He did not consider all the possibilities and effects of his actions. He was naive. But how could he suppose this whole thing would get so unhealthy and confusing? How could he know that one innocent kiss with Mycroft would lead to such problems? Later, one thing led to another one and everything started to fall apart. His relationship with Mycroft became tense, Sherlock started to behave strangely. And this stress caused by lies. This was too much for less than two weeks. Everything was going too fast and too intense. He knew he had made a mistake when he agreed to Mycroft's offer. The Holmes brothers were beyond control. John would be able to control them if he had to deal with only one of them at a time. But he was surrounded by two Holmes in a small building and this resulted in an imminent disaster. He had always treated Sherlock like his best friend, but now he had to be careful and guess the reasons for his strange behavior. He never had a strong bond with Mycroft, but he couldn't pretend that nothing had happened between them. His relationship with Mycroft was closer now than he might have thought. The thought of what would happen after returning to London terrified him, but at the moment it didn't matter. Mycroft's attitude towards anything was radically different from John's. But, even if they could agree on one thing, John doubted they would be able to agree on more important matters. He had to let go of this urge of fixing the character and habits of the older man. Now the most important thing was to find out why his best friend was acting so strange. And Sherlock really wasn't himself lately ...

He walked ahead but didn't wonder where. He learned to recognize buildings and h knew the area by heart, so when he stood in the square nearby to the church of St. Stefano, he guessed, he had to reflect on his relationship with the Holmes brothers for a long time. The place where he stood was in the western part of the city. The square was not as popular as St. Mark, but it was just as charming. Tourists did not know this place very much, so the noise of conversations did not disturb as much as in other places. It was calm and quiet. The sun warmed John's skin. He felt he was starting to calm down. He was still thinking about his quarrel with Mycroft, but he realized that thinking about him would make no sense now. He was depressed and tired of all the emotional discussions that exhausted him mentally. He dreamed of normal conversation or at least silence in good company. He walked around the square for a while, and finally went toward one of the restaurants. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a familiar figure at one of the tables, in a black dress and with a phone in her hands. He went towards her. When he stood next to the woman, she looked at him briefly.

"Good morning, Doctor Watson."

"Anthea?" John asked in surprise.

She looked a bit surprised, but she smiled a moment later. John knew her as Anthea and she wasn't going to change it.

"What are you doing here ... I mean, I didn't know you came with us."

"It's my job, Doctor," she replied with a slight smile. John was a bit confused when he realized that Mycroft couldn't just do everything alone. His question seemed pointless at the moment.

"Could I ..." he said and looked around nervously with narrowed eyes, he clenched his fists as he used to do in awkward situations. Anthea looked at him over the phone. "... may I join you?" he asked.

"Of course".

John sat down in front of the woman who looked at her phone again, completely ignoring everything that was going on around her. She didn't look very busy, but she didn't look like she was going to talk to him neither. She reached for a cup of coffee on the table from time to time and quickly wrote something on her cell phone. John enjoyed the moment. He was sitting in front of a beautiful woman, he was not forced to make awkward conversations. He didn't even have to pretend that everything was fine. Anthea didn't say a word, yet he felt better with her than in the last two days. He enjoyed a nice and peaceful moment.

"Your boss has a really difficult temperament. I admire your self-abnegation and patience, even if it is just a job to you. You probably enjoy such days when you work at a distance with him, right?" John said with a friendly smile. He watched Mycroft's assistant, who gave him a quick look.

"I can't complain about Mr. Holmes. Our many years of cooperation have been going very well so far ..." she said, staring at the screen. "... and the reasons for my absence in your hotel are different than you think ... John," she replied, giving him a friendly look and smiled, raising the corners of her mouth.

"And these reasons are...?"

"You think I'm glad to be separated from Mr. Holmes, and I don't have to ... as you said, train my patience and self-abnegation. However, the truth is that Mr. Holmes asked me to act incognito. I am not happy to follow the instructions I get over the cell phone. I'd rather hear what I should do face to face. "

John must have looked very surprised because Anthea smiled and calmly took a sip of black coffee from her elegant cup before she answered his unspoken question.

"Mr. Holmes shuns social life, but he knows the conventions and human weaknesses. What would it look like if a woman interfered in the marriage of her boss and spent more time with him than his partner? This is part of the game so that people could not suspect anyone for cheating, and you know how exuberant human imagination can be. They see bread in wheat grain and see a secret lover in a loyal assistant. Mr. Holmes prefers to play it safe, but that does not mean he neglects his duties. "

"I see ... But I was surprised when you said you would prefer to talk to him face to face."

"What's so strange about it?"

"Because usually, when I see you, you write something on the phone all the time. I thought you were communicating with him in this way."

"Why should I get orders over cell phone since Mr. Holmes is usually right next to me?"

"Well, you're right. But what are you doing with this phone then?" he asked before he could hold his tongue. He knew he had no right to ask about that. But Anthea was not angry, she responded with a wide smile. She didn't answer his question, of course not. After all, who was he was to reveal government secrets to him? Anthea intrigued him with her mystery. He was surprised she talked to him so naturally and talked so much. Their conversations usually ended with a quick 'good morning, doctor' or 'Mr. Holmes is waiting'. It was pleasant to spend time with someone else who looked at things normally

"Were you surprised by his choice? I mean, I'm a man. Why didn't Mycroft choose a beautiful woman to pretend to be his wife?"

"And why did you agree to do it, John?" she asked, and as John considered the answer, she quickly answered the first part of his question.

"I wasn't surprised when Mr. Holmes said who he asked for help. I knew about his preferences for a long time and I heard who he was considering as his potential partner," she said, looking at John who was left without a word. 

He was able to say something only after a long moment. "How long has Mycroft used me as his excuse?" he asked and blinked quickly.

"You should ask him. You two are married after all," she replied with slight amusement and settled back in her chair.

God, another - guess what I mean - person. Why would everyone in Mycroft's surroundings have to be so mysterious and inaccessible? What was the problem in answering the question honestly, even if the answer was not pleasant? John already knew why Anthea and Mycroft got along so well. They both avoided deeper conversations and did not interfere in their private lives. It was a perfect arrangement that had worked for years and John thought it would last for the next years.

"Mr. Holmes will join us soon," she said, making him focus his attention on her again. She didn't look at him and John didn't know if she was relieved or indifferent. But why would Mycroft leave the hotel? Did he want to argue with him again or did he want to apologize? No, it didn't sound like Mycroft. He made no mistakes, so the word 'sorry' did not have a place in his dictionary. But why did he bother going through almost half the city? John didn't know how to react. He wondered if he should prepare for a series of rebuke, sinister glances, and harsh comments. If he could, he would avoid meeting with Mycroft, so he decided to leave the restaurant before the genius joined them. The moment he cleared his throat and grabbed the armrests of the chair, he heard someone's familiar footsteps behind him.

"I knew you were going to try to hide in some unpopular place ..."

John turned and narrowed his eyes because the sun was shining straight on his face. He didn't even have to make an effort to guess who was behind him.

"Sherlock ... I thought your brother would come for me," he said and watched his friend. Sherlock chose a chair and joined them.

"Mycroft is sitting in his bedroom thinking about how to make another bite of the cake not so painful for his stomach. Your fist seems more effective than all the diets he has been struggling with over the past decade, John." Sherlock's smile was so contagious and his biting remarks too funny for a doctor to be able to remain serious. He smiled under his breath and put his hand on his stomach. The mention of the cake reminded him that he ate practically nothing but breakfast, although the sun was starting to hide behind the horizon already.

"Damn, I was in such a hurry that I forgot to bring my wallet ..."

"Don't worry about it, doctor. Order what you want under Mr. Holmes' name," Anthea said. She was just getting ready to leave. She finished the rest of the coffee and - still not looking at the men - silently pushed back the chair, which was quite a feat because the curve and uneven stone floor almost asked for someone's attention.

"Can we do that?" John asked. His friend was already browsing the menu as if it was obvious to him that they would use Mycroft's assistant's suggestion.

"Of course, John. He probably mentioned that half of this city is on his service as long as the congress is on. Don't worry and order what you like," he said, without taking his eyes off the menu. John decided not to argue. He wanted to say goodbye to Anthea, but he only saw her disappear somewhere in a small crowd. After a moment, the waiter appeared next to their table. He took the order only after the third time. When he disappeared, John leaned over to his pleased friend.

"Sherlock! Why did you order the most expensive dishes, since you will not eat it anyway?"

"I don't understand. You always keep saying, I should experiment and try what I haven't had before."

"But you don't like seafood ... When Mrs. Hudson wanted to surprise us and when she cooked the squid, you insulted her just because you did not want to eat it. She didn't visit us for a week."

"If you think you can't eat them, we'll order something else. You should be happy to try the exotic flavors, John." Sherlock didn't even hide his satisfaction. He stared at the friend who shook his head in amusement. After several minutes they were holding glasses with the most expensive red wine served by the restaurant.

"You feel satisfaction when you torment Mycroft, right?" John asked as he drank half a glass of wine. Sherlock gave him a satisfied smile.

"If you lived with him as many years as I had, you would know there is no other way. Mycroft doesn't like to lose, that's why he is so keen on competition. You've seen it ..."

"Sherlock, please. Let's leave the topic of your brother and me," John said in a gentle tone, wanting to let him know he wasn't angry at Mycroft, but the idea of talking about him was not the best. Sherlock understood his request, so he fell silent and stared at the pair sitting two tables away. He and John were sitting without a word but they didn't mind. They liked their company and there was no such thing as awkward silence between them. Their presence was enough to make them feel satisfied and relaxed. The atmosphere of previous days seemed to disappear and John even forgot about the strange behavior of his friend. He felt good when he sat with him. He looked at Sherlock, who was trying to get his attention by staring at him. Genius nodded towards the couple.

"Look at them. Gondolier helper and supporting actress from a nearby theater ..."

At this point, the waiter placed two plates full of seafood in front of them. Sherlock looked at the dishes hesitantly. When he looked up at John, he didn't look like he was saying 'I told you so', but he was waiting for his deduction and explanation of the reasons why the couple in love caught his attention. Sherlock didn't turn around again but started to look at food.

"The boy works near the water because he often rolls up his trouser legs. Before he came here, he did it too, probably a habit, but he realized it and smoothed his trouser legs. Quick enough that the girl didn't realize and so inaccurate that he didn't notice the back are still rolled up. Gondolier helpers often have to go into the water to push the boat that is stuck in the marina. However, they are obliged to the same elegance as the main gondoliers, hence the urge to roll up their pants and remove shoes. His shoes are new, but the heels are bent. He treats his shoes like sandals ... "

As usual, John carefully listened to his friend with admiration. He was still delighted at how easily Sherlock could read people. There was only one problem. One damn beautiful problem. Half of his attention was drawn to Sherlock's lips. This sharp shape and plump lower lip. He watched his lips move as he spoke and how he winced when he tried oysters that he obviously didn't like.

"... he is tanned and quite strong. He has hardened hands. The girl cares more. She came here straight from rehearsal. She has spare clothes in her bag and remnants of wig glue on her forehead. She did not manage to wash off her strong makeup, that's why her eyes look tired. She listens to his jokes and hopes that her persistence will soften his heart, which, by the way, belongs to her friend's. The boy keeps checking the phone. He's probably flirting with that other girl right now ... "

John was still watching his lips, but Sherlock didn't seem to realize it. He was too busy with deductions. John wondered what had happened and why it was only now that he became interested in this part of his friend's body. Is it because of this 'almost kiss'? It was true he was not disgusted by the idea that Sherlock wanted to kiss him. He was surprised and stunned by his behavior at that time. He fled because he was afraid of consistency and Sherlock's motives. But the idea of a kiss was pleasant and exciting. John shook off his thoughts. Did he really want to kiss Sherlock, or was it just a whim?

"... I give her a few more minutes," Sherlock said, but before he could add anything else, he heard a loud smack. He turned his head and looked at the couple. The girl stood furious, and the man sat huddled in a chair. She screamed something in Italian and struck him with an open hand on his back and head. People looked at them with the same surprise as John and Sherlock. But genius knew that sooner or later the girl's patience would end. They watched how enraged woman snatched the phone from the man's hand and throw on at the ground, then left and yelled some curses.

"Sherlock, don't laugh ..." John said, seeing a smile on his friend's lips. Sherlock looked at him with childlike innocence.

"Oh, John. I'll tell you now how it really is. People think of Venice as a romantic place. They think this city will make all the problems magically disappeared. They think their love will be sealed, will be strong and lasting. They tell themselves that they will solve their problems if they look at each other with the romanticism of Venice. They let themselves be misled by beautiful advertisements and their exaggerated expectations. They want to believe in the extraordinary properties of romantic places, although they only postpone their problems. Don't believe everything you hear, John. Persuasion has great power but it is not adequate for what is really happening. Most people will leave Venice in the belief that they are in love, but the reality will make them look critically at their chosen ones and they will feel disgusted at the things they said and did. "

John was silent for a moment, analyzing his friend's words. He knew they concerned him and Mycroft, and he felt judged and hurt. He didn't want to be seen as a naive romantic in Sherlock's eyes. Everything Sherlock said made sense and John felt bad with it.

"We agreed we will not talk about Mycroft, Sherlock," he said. He lowered his eyes and ran his fingers over the edges of the oyster shell. Sherlock fell silent and did not mention his brother again. He talked to John about the results of the last experiment and how Mrs. Hudson made his life difficult when he was alone with her. John did not even have to try to forget about recent events, because his friend helped him to relax. At first, he was afraid of his reaction and did not know if they would be able to look at each other without pointing out the events of previous days, but now everything was slowly coming back to normal. None of them complained and they behaved as they did during all the years of their friendship. The only problem for John was to avoid staring at Sherlock's lips for a long time. John supposed that Sherlock knew about his weakness, so he did not wipe his lips intentionally, but only licked them slowly. His fight with himself continued until the end of dinner because when they decided to return to the hotel, the only thing that caught their eye was the beautiful sunset. He walked slowly beside Sherlock and took advantage of the moment when there was no tension between them. For a split second, thoughts of the previous night came to his mind, but he quickly threw them out of his memory.

They passed the narrow streets and squeezed among the crowds of tourists who occupied the main streets. The smells of bars and restaurants were in the air. John and Sherlock passed the theater and a small bridge. At one point, John felt Sherlock's touch on his shoulder. He rubbed John gently with his arm. It would not be anything unusual if it wasn't for the fact that this kind of closeness was becoming more common. Strangely enough, there was no crowd around. John did not comment and refrained from giving him a questioning look. It didn't bother him, so he walked without a word. When they entered the main promenade by the canal, he slightly moved away from his friend. But Sherlock clung to his body again. Every now and then he grabbed his elbow and switched sides as he passed behind him. They rubbed their fingers and hands, and John was becoming more confused and intrigued. After another unsuccessful attempt to distance himself from his friend, he stood still and turned to him.

"What are you doing, Sherlock? What do you mean with this... touching?"

Sherlock looked surprised as if he didn't know what John meant. But John knew Sherlock was aware of his behavior. "Does it bother you?"

"No ... I'm just not used to it" John said, looking away for a moment.

"It doesn't bother you with other friends. You even tolerate Mycroft" his tone was filled with sadness and accusations, but John knew it was more acting than real grudges. He decided not to explain himself and see the results.

"Don't sulk, Sherlock. It's not like I don't want to touch you ... It's just ... you're my best friend, but we usually don't need to prove our friendship in this way. It's not like I do not want to touch you ".

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and, although he tried hard not to smile, he raised a corner of his mouth and spread his arms. "Prove it," he said, waiting for John's reaction.

John was surprised and he looked around. He wanted to make sure they didn't become objects of interest to other people. But they paid more attention to tourist attractions, not to the two men standing in the middle of the promenade. He caught his friend's gaze and stared at him for a long moment. He finally capitulated because Sherlock didn't look like someone who was about to give up. John took a deep sigh, came closer to his friend and embraced his waist. He immediately felt Sherlock's arms on his shoulders and back. He stood still for a moment, then after a few numb seconds, he loosened his grip and lowered his hands, trying to pull away.

"Okay, that's enough ..." his words didn't work because Sherlock didn't let him out of his arms.

"Too long ..." John placed his hands on the tall man's chest this time, but before he gathered his strength to fight back, he looked into Sherlock's eyes. His eyes looked different than a few moments ago. They were shining and sad. It softened John's heart. It was true he was not used to this kind of behavior and did not know where it came from, but knowing that his friend was asking for such things made him unable to resist him. He lowered his eyes slightly and snuggled into his body again. This time he turned his face and instead of looking at the people passing by, he pressed his nose into the neck of a taller man. He closed his eyes and inhaled his calming scent. He felt Sherlock's soft skin on his cheek and his firm but gentle embrace. He lost himself in the moment and stopped paying attention to the other people, their conversations or the awareness that someone from Mycroft's friends could see them. He listened to Sherlock's heartbeat. Holmes' heart was beating faster than it should have been for some reason. It wasn't long before he looked up and his eyes met Sherlock's. The soft gaze made him clear his throat and pulled away, this time without the rush. They didn't have to do or say anything more. Everything was natural, though not entirely friendly. John didn't dare look at Sherlock anymore. He only gave him a shy smile when they stood in front of their hotel. Genius also did not force him to talk, he walked lost in his thoughts, but he did not give up the possibility of gently rubbing against his body. He opened the main door for John and they went up the stairs.

John focused all his attention on Sherlock but saw Aaron Stoner out of the corner of his eye. He was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He was holding a cell phone in his hands and he was smiling under his breath. John was about to look away when he suddenly heard Aaron's voice.

"Well done, Molly ..." he muttered and chuckled darkly. He looked up and caught John's startled look. Stoner didn't even pay attention to his companion because he was focused on John. He smiled, winked at him very slowly. He watched as his target quickly look away and climbed the stairs like a mountain chamois.

\---

Mycroft felt a pleasant chill calming his moist body. He stared at his reflection. He knew he couldn't compare to Sherlock. Their appearance was completely different, like most things. They were siblings, yet he sometimes felt like someone completely strange to Sherlock. His brother could win over friends and colleagues, but he never took them seriously. He could be nice and charming when he had a reason for it. But there were a few people, he cared about and had feelings for them. He didn't care about the rest of the people. This behavior was their only common feature. Mycroft knew that he could not - or rather did not want - see something more in people and he treated everyone with a distance. Who could not intellectually match him was not worth his attention. He wasn't like his brother because he didn't see positive qualities in other people, that's why he was alone.

It's not like he was jealous ... Mycroft Holmes did not know this feeling. He got rid of the word at the very beginning when Sherlock was born. He was the parents' favorite. He could easily get their attention. A charming, intelligent child. Quite the opposite of proud, calm Mycroft. His jealousy gave way to protection because he wanted to see his reflection in his younger brother, he wanted to show him a love he did not experience himself - but the truth was he rejected this feeling. Sherlock was the dearest person in his life, he loved him, and yet he felt like whatever he would do, he would be compared with him. Of course, he was smarter and more perceptive but he secretly lacked what Sherlock had. Love, attention, and feelings of loved ones. Maybe that's why when he saw how John treated Sherlock, the spark of jealousy he had been trying to keep secret all his life, exploded with double force. For the first time in his life, he couldn't stand it and he expressed his feelings aloud. But it wasn't the worst of it. He wasn't mad at Sherlock, but at John. John, because he was more interested in him at that moment. He recognized the taste of something more than desire, he gained John's attention and his interest. He knew about it and took advantage of it. At the same time, he allowed himself to be carried away by this feeling. Sherlock would remain his brother, but John's attention was fragile. He was afraid his attention would disappear as soon as it started. Mycroft was terrified of being aware of his desires because he was starting to like what he despised until now.

Staring at his reflection, he could no longer see the strong, proud man he had seen every time. Now he could see the exposed and an emotionally fragile man with thin hair and wrinkled skin. He saw his weaknesses and all the negative qualities he was trying to avoid while he was looking at himself. The water on his skin evaporated as he stood, staring at his reflection. He smoothed his hair, tightened the towel on his hips and opened the door. A bright bathroom light brightened the dark bedroom. Mycroft took two steps before realizing he wasn't alone. He saw John lying on the bed. John heard him and took his arm off his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment without saying a word. Mycroft's hand gripped the towel harder as if he was afraid that John might see all the unpleasant things he'd seen in the mirror a moment ago. He closed the door behind him, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. The bedroom was dark. He didn't know if John was following him with his eyes, but he felt uncomfortable as he stood half-naked in the room and reached into the closet for clean clothes. He hesitated for a moment, but he finally took off the towel. He felt terribly naked despite the darkness. He didn't want to look desperate, so he forced himself to act calmly. He dressed quickly, folded the towel and went to bed.

He was relieved to find that John was not paying attention to him, and his eyes were covered with his shoulder like a few moments before. Mycroft went around the bed and slipped into his part of the mattress. He felt the atmosphere was still tense. He lay on his back, stared at the decorated ceiling, and listened to John's breath. He wanted to see if he was falling asleep, but there was no indication that John was sleeping.

"John, I'm sorry. My behavior was unforgivable," he said in a normal voice.

"Do you know, at least, why are you sorry? If your intentions are not honest, then forget about it ...". John did not change position, but Mycroft knew he was waiting for this conversation as much as he was.

"I know, it's difficult for us to communicate. I also know, it's ... exhausting and it's not easy for you to accept me. I shouldn't say that, now that the trip is coming to an end, but I owe you this. I am sorry, I was so harsh and put so much pressure on you. I should trust you and rely on you more. You have helped me in many situations. "

John took his arm out of his eyes and turned his head towards Mycroft. "If you say it honestly, I'm probably the first person to hear such words coming from your mouth, right?" he asked with a small smile. Mycroft didn't answer, just looked into his eyes.

"Has anyone been lucky enough to win your trust enough that you don't check every step of their action and give them a free hand, even in the least important matter?"

"There is no such option, John." Mycroft heard his soft giggle.

John seemed in a better mood. He guessed Mycroft didn't spy on them this time. 

"And I want to apologize for all the malicious things I said. I didn't want it to sound like that. And that punch ..."

"I had time to think about recent events, John, and I can confidently say I deserved it," Mycroft interrupted him, and unwittingly put his hand on the spot where he felt John's fist the most. He saw his smile and then heard the rustle of bedclothes.

"You deserved it," John confirmed, turning to the other side. He was no longer angry and was glad that the older man had finally put his pride aside and they could come to an agreement. He was relieved this day did not end as badly as he thought. They were silent for a moment.

"Do you have a meeting tomorrow?

"Yes ... But you don't have to come with me. You can stay in our apartment or go to the city. You can decide. It's our penultimate day, so you don't have to worry about anything anymore."

John was surprised that his conversation with Mycroft went so smoothly. They talked without teasing each other or making harsh comments. He believed everything was going back to normal. Talking with him did not look like he thought it would, but he was glad it wasn't deep and long conversation again and they manage to avoid pointing out their mistakes. He closed his eyes and fell asleep with his head on a soft pillow, surrounded by a gentle touch of bedding and Mycroft's scent. But his sleep was not restful. He turned from side to side. He turned the pillow over to the cold side. He was throwing bedding off the bed but later wrapped himself in it. The night passed very quickly. He felt more tired in the morning than when he went to bed. When he woke up he found an empty bed, but he had already got used to it. He didn't have to waste his time at meetings or banquets, so he decided to spend it lazing around. The last two days have been exhausting for him and he was starting to feel pain in his legs. He didn't care about the time of day, but he looked sideways at the open window and knew it was still early in the morning. He knew he would not sleep again, so he got out of bed and took a quick, refreshing shower. He left the bedroom and saw the breakfast on the table that Mycroft had ordered for him. He smiled. Mycroft behaved like a gentleman as usual and despite all, he did not forget about such trivial needs. John had to admit, Mycroft had many disadvantages - like everyone else - but he couldn't say, the genius didn't care about the people who were under his care.

John ate breakfast and went to Sherlock's apartment. He came to the door and was not surprised when it was open. He lightly pressed the door handle and went inside. He had time to look more closely at the room. The living room was large. He saw open windows with blue curtains. John could say the living room was quiet. He heard the sound of water and felt a pleasant draft. The wind made the sheets lay on the ground across the living room. The room looked elegant, but it had a different color than John and Mycroft's apartment. This living room had blue curtains and a blue rug and looked less cozy than the living room in their apartment.

John stood in the middle of the room and looked around. He was not surprised that Mycroft did not choose this apartment. It did not suit his seriousness and elegance. For some reason, he could not imagine him surrounded by blue, green or purple colors. He imagined him surrounded by dark brown furniture, a downy red carpet, a yellow-orange lamplight, with a golden pen in his hand and a glass of whiskey next to his mouth. Sherlock had a slightly different style. Cold colors suited him more. Blue, silver, purple and black. These were his colors.

As he thought about which colors suited the Holmes brothers, John was surprised by the quiet creaking of the door. He turned and saw Molly coming out of the bedroom she shared with Sherlock. She looked ... different than usual. Her hair was loose, tousled and disheveled. She grinned but quickly bit her lower lip when she saw him. She tried to pull the shirt - obviously not hers - on her bare legs. She looked very pleased and relaxed. If John were to guess why the girl was so happy, he would bet she had ...

"Molly, where's Sherlock?" he asked, not hiding the surprise and suspicion in his voice. He heard a small giggle. He didn't like it at all. Molly pointed her finger back into the bedroom, then blushed and walked quickly, almost cheerfully, toward the bathroom on the other side of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I am extremely grateful for your support. You really are amazing. That is why I am asking you for help. I plan to write my first story but I need a lot of time to plan many things. I always wanted to do it, but I didn't have enough courage and time to do it. Taking this opportunity - because I am sick and I have more free time - I would like to start planning a new story (of course I will still be translating the Bloody Ring). Therefore, I would be grateful if you answered a few questions:
> 
> 1\. Do you prefer Johnlock, Johncroft or Johnbastian? Or maybe John with someone else?  
> 2\. A love triangle? Crime story? Adventure story? Army story?  
> 3\. This story should be: realistic / fantasy / horror / based on some movie or book?/ Comedy? Or a combination of two styles?  
> 4\. Do you prefer long chapters or shorter ones? Happy ending?  
> 5\. Would you like to have a choice of your own ending or making decisions while reading a story (like in a game)?  
> 6\. Do you have any other suggestions or ideas that you would like to read about?
> 
> To be honest I have one idea I have been thinking about for some time but I would like to know your opinion. Besides, I don't know if you would like it, which is why I would prefer to know in advance what you prefer to read about. Thank you, guys, for your comments and see you in the next chapter!


	18. Chapter 18

John knew many types of fear and anxiety. He was afraid of losing his friends, he was afraid of loneliness and the situation when someone would play with his feelings again and betray his trust. He was afraid of the monotonous sound of the cardio monitor. He dreamed of it sometimes and reminded of all his dead friends. He was frightened by every whistle, like the sound of a bullet passing by, and the quiet voices of dying friends who were whispering their last words into his ear. Like Sherlock, when he said goodbye to him on the phone just before the jump. He hated these kinds of conversations. He could survive any other conversation, anything but the farewell one. He also had a few harmless phobias or ordinary fears that did not bother him daily and even doubted that Sherlock was aware of them. However, at that moment - when he was standing in the middle of the living room of Sherlock and Molly - he felt fear, he did not know it could exist.

Molly walked past him and made John gasp and turn his head away. He didn't want to smell her. It was absurd, he knew that, but the fear of recognizing his friend's smell on her was so terrifying that it disturbed his common sense and sober thinking. He knew the smell of Sherlock, it was a combination of the bitter smell of cigarettes, book dust, something chemical and pleasant cologne, which he didn't use every day - because Sherlock assumed that why he should use perfumes when he spends his days in pajamas or a bedding and experimented - but the smell stayed on his body and clothes. That's why he knew one deep sniff would be enough, and he would know if his guess was true.

For some reason he was afraid of it, he didn't want to know what Molly smelled. This fear was so strange and ridiculous that as soon as the girl disappeared behind him and slammed the bathroom door quietly, John lowered his head and took a deep breath. Why was he behaving like that? What was so strange about it? Even if Sherlock and Molly spent the night together - why did he care? Did he not make the same assumption after his first night with Mycroft? Both he and Sherlock were independent and made their own decisions. So why did he thinking that Molly ... No, he couldn't look at it in such a selfish way. And who said anything happened between them? He only deduced this from Molly's looks. He probably saw but did not observe. Besides, this kind of conclusion was unlikely because Sherlock's behavior in the last few days contradicted it. He stuck to him like glue and he almost forced him to do things that he had never done before. And he would suddenly turn to Molly? Absurd! Sherlock wasn't a playboy and didn't pick up other people unless he had a purpose. And he certainly would not behave like that towards his friends.

John was so overwhelmed by his thoughts he did not realize he was still standing in the middle of the living room. He only came to his senses when he felt a draft when the bedroom door opened. He raised his head and looked at the sleepy Sherlock, who had just got out of bed a moment before. When he saw John he stood in place and rubbed his eyes to look at him better. The wind blew his curly hair.

"Good morning, Sherlock," he said, hoping he would end this awkward moment. They both felt that the morning had not started as expected and for the first time in a long time John did not know how to react and what to say. He was looking at a friend who started walking towards him.

"Good morning" Sherlock's tone surprised John. He thought, or rather hoped his presence would make Sherlock smile at least. He did not expect he would jump with joy, clap his hands or wrap his arms around him, but the quiet and almost ignoring tone and the lack of eye contact completely surprised him. And it wasn't over. Sherlock simply passed him without a word. He just cut him dead. He stood next to a small table with a laptop, checking the city map.

John was surprised. He felt Sherlock was angry with him, but he couldn't remember if he had given him any reason. Besides, he rarely saw him angry. Sherlock got angry at Mrs. Hudson or Mycroft sometimes, but he expressed it by making sarcastic comments, but he didn't ignore them by showing a complete lack of reaction. Sherlock didn't act that way, that is why John was confused by his attitude, even more.

"Mycroft has some meetings today ... I will be bored all day. Maybe we could go to the city?" he offered. He crossed his arms in a defensive gesture and looked down. He didn't hear the answer what made him feel stupid and felt anger start to take control over him. What's that supposed to mean? Why did Sherlock act so strange again? If he wasn't angry or offended at him, maybe he was ashamed of his night with Molly?

"In the afternoon it is going to rain a bit, but the rest of the day should be sunny. We should enjoy the sun. The weather in London is not so pleasant." And nothing. Another silence. Sherlock even refused to look at him. "Sherlock ..." he could not finish, because the bathroom door opened, completely attracting Sherlock's attention. Molly was standing behind the door. She looked at them, hiding behind the door frame.

"I can't find my toothbrush and ..." before she said the last word, Sherlock closed his laptop and, went to the bathroom, ignoring John. His steps and movements were not quick or angry, but John sensed a kind of desperation in his actions ... or joy maybe? It was like he couldn't wait to be alone with Molly or get rid of John. Sherlock passed Molly, giving her an obvious and honest smile, then disappeared behind the door. The girl was very surprised by his behavior. She blushed, looked at John, and also hid in the bathroom when Sherlock's hand pulled the door handle, closing the door. John didn't understand what was actually going on. He felt like Sherlock was pretending to be someone else. Or maybe something really happened and he went crazy? At first, he followed him like a dog, demanded attention and tenderness, only to start doing the same thing for Molly a few hours later. Did he do some sociological experiment? Or was it one of his plans to see what would happen when he changed his attitude? Whatever it was supposed to be, John couldn't get rid of the feeling of stinging in his heart. How did he end up as a guinea pig? How could his friend do this to him? And why the hell did he choose him as his target? Was he such an insensitive asshole after all, and he did not care about the feelings of his best friend and he used a woman who had been crazy about him for years?

John had had enough. He had to go out and look at everything from a different perspective, with a cool head. He had the feeling the last days and the whole trip had been a strange dream, something that had no right to happen. His relationship with Mycroft? This sudden change in Sherlock's behavior? Beautiful Venice, which he had only heard of, but never thought he would ever see it with his own eyes? It was so different and unreal.

When he left the room, he didn't even wonder where his legs led him. He walked without paying attention to his surroundings, and he only regained consciousness when he sat down on one of the crimson chairs of the restaurant on the second floor. He rarely ate meals outside the room he shared with Mycroft. He regretted it right now. He regretted not getting to know all the beautiful places, whether at the hotel or outside. He regretted he did not pay much attention to people and atmosphere and regretted a bit he was persuaded by Mycroft and came with him here. If he did not know this lifestyle, luxuries, places, maybe it would be easier for him to return to the ordinary reality, which slowly reminded him of the realities in which he lived in London. He knew he would remember those two weeks spent in warm and elegant Venice many times. He will recall when he was ... in Mycroft's arms. He was like a Cinderella who was allowed to spend a beautiful night with the prince, but time was gone and he had to return to his duties.

He smiled when he thought Mycroft could be his prince charming. He was not the ideal partner and John somehow could not imagine little girls staring at the TV screen and sigh at such a prince with such character and vices. Of course, he knew, he had many vices, and he wasn't perfect too, but the thought of Mycroft - the prince, amused him so much he didn't even notice the two people who sat at the table next to him.

"Maybe Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute? I've heard so much about this place ..."

John recognized Molly's voice. She was sitting behind him. He shivered slightly, but immediately controlled his body and started browsing the menu.

"If you want ..." Sherlock's deep voice spread across the bustling restaurant.

"What would you say, John?" she asked, turning around in the chair with a smile. She was looking at John, who turned his head toward her. He saw sparkles of happiness in her eyes and blushes on her cheeks. In the end, she could go for a walk with her unrequited love and it was obvious that she wasn't going to hide her happiness.

"Sorry?"

"Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute, John. This building, which can be seen from the hotel windows," she said, pointing a finger straight ahead at the open windows. John followed her gesture, but Sherlock caught his eye. He sat opposite Molly and read the menu card. The sight of his indifferent face or even ignorance made John feel the unpleasant feeling of stinging in his stomach he felt earlier this morning.

"Aaron wanted to show me this place, but he changed his plans at the last minute. He has no time today, but since you and Sherlock are both free, maybe we'll use the last moments in Venice and visit interesting places?". Her cheerful tone caused pain in John's heart, which was very strange because he hadn't bothered by the thought that something might happen between her and Sherlock. Maybe it was because he doubted that anything would ever happen between them, or maybe it was because he felt rejected by a friend who treated him as if he did not exist? He didn't take his eyes off Sherlock, who probably felt it because he never looked up from the menu card.

"Sherlock said he would spend this all day with me and you could join. You know this city better than we do."

"Did he really said that?" John asked with a raised eyebrow and feigned surprise. He didn't see his friend's reaction, but he didn't give up. He also ignored the way Sherlock spoke about him as if he were an ordinary guide, or his presence was an unpleasant necessity for him.

"Well, maybe he didn't say it that way, but he insisted and ..." Molly seemed to sense Sherlock's dissatisfaction, so she fell silent and turned her head, looking at the genius. Sherlock gave her a dark and mysterious look from above the menu card.

 _So, whose idea was that?_ John wanted to ask, but he bit his teeth and didn't do it. He turned and focused on the elegant tableware in front of him. He wasn't going to be the third wheel, and he wasn't going to impose his presence if Sherlock and Molly had plans. It would hurt his pride. Whether it was Sherlock's idea or not, he wasn't going to play his games and he wasn't going to wait until he would act like the Sherlock he knew again.

"There's a restaurant on the other side of the channel, with a lot of positive reviews. I can take you there. You need a lot of calories now. An intense night can be very exhausting ... John knows something about it," Sherlock muttered, covering his face with a menu card. He didn't see John, who almost ate his own teeth and dug his nails into his hands. John had to take a quick calming breath because he wanted to jump on a friend who clearly referred to his night adventures with Mycroft.

"What do you mean?" Molly asked. She was confused, but before she could ask anything else, John reacted even faster.

He got up from his chair, but he didn't look at them even for a second. "I'll go change my shoes. These are not suitable for long walks," he said. He imagined he would hear Sherlock's ironic giggle because his voice was numb and unnatural.

Genius, however, did not make the slightest sound. He was talking to the waiter who came to his table.

"Good. We'll eat breakfast and wait for you in the hall," Molly added, in a slightly less cheerful voice, but she wanted to hide it.

John was perfectly aware of the reason why she was sad. She wanted to spend the day with Sherlock and she probably hoped that he would not accept their offer. However, he did not intend to give his friend the satisfaction of insulting him. He also didn't want to talk about things he thought they had already explained. Besides, he wanted to know the reason for his strange behavior. He knew Sherlock would want to avoid being exposed at all costs, but that only encouraged John even more. He left Molly and Sherlock. They chatted at the table like old friends. John passed the elegant tables in the restaurant, climbed the stairs to the first floor, and went straight to his apartment. He was glad he didn't meet any friends along the way, although he knew Francesca and her husband and Stoner also had their rooms nearby. He prepared the key to the door, but when he put it on the lock and put his hand on the door handle, he realized the apartment was open.

Strange. He could have sworn he locked the door when he went to Sherlock's apartment in the morning. He pushed the door open and looked suspiciously around the living room, but no one was there. When he slammed the door, Mycroft came out of the bedroom, carrying some documents. He nodded when he saw John.

"Good morning, John."

"Mycroft? What are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you too," he mumbled, but he was not irritated. He went to the desk for the rest of the documents.

"Sorry ... But seriously ... I thought, since this is the last day of work, you will have some important meeting and you will not come back until the evening," John replied.

"I had to go back for a few documents, and there was no point in sending my assistant for it ..." Mycroft put a stack of paper in his briefcase and grabbed the glass with the leftover whiskey at the bottom. He emptied it quickly and turned sideways to John, taking the things he needed.

"I heard you talked to her yesterday. I have to thank her for this bill," he said and looked at John. He frowned and stared at him a little longer. John was silent and knew Mycroft was deducing him now, but he didn't feel like masking what he would usually prefer to keep to himself. He stood in silence and looked at the man who examined him with a short but very inquisitive look.

"What did my brother do?" he asked when he learned everything. John wanted to shake his head because he still didn't know how Sherlock and Mycroft did it. He sighed and walked to the bedroom door.

"Everything is fine. Why do you think he did something?"

"John ..." Mycroft's soft yet significant voice made John give up. He knew there was no point in pretending everything was fine.

"Sherlock ... I don't know ... he's acting weird today. And I don't mean 'weird' like in the last days. Now his 'weird' is that he changed his attitude completely. Yesterday everything was fine and today he behaves as if I were his colleague. Ha! Even better. As if he barely knew me. He ignores me and treats me as if I did not exist. He has behaved weird recently, but today he outdid himself". 

John never once looked at Mycroft but he felt his gaze. He knew he should not talk to him about this or lament about such trivial problems. He must have looked like a rejected girl who complains about her boyfriend in Mycroft's eyes. He did not know why he had such associations. He dared to look up after a few moments.

Mycroft was thinking deeply about something. He took a deep breath and straightened up even more. "John, listen. Tonight there will be a farewell party in the neighboring hotel. Something like a summary of the congress. I know we've been through a lot lately. We've said unpleasant words too, but if you want ... I'll be delighted if you join me tonight.

The offer did not surprise him, but the time and place did. Does Mycroft want to distract him from the worries caused by Sherlock? It wasn't like him. He was glad of the invitation, but the thought of having to spend the whole evening with Stoner was the last thing he wanted to do. Since the day had not started well enough, and there were only less than two days left to the end of the trip, he decided to spend it in such a way as to avoid all possible situations that could upset him. He made an appointment with Molly and Sherlock, but he couldn't cancel it.

He gave Mycroft a light and friendly smile. "Thanks, but I'd rather stay in the room," he said, not trying to explain his decision. Mycroft just nodded and said nothing more. He took his things and left the apartment. Meanwhile, John wondered why he preferred to spend the day alone or in the company of Sherlock, who ignored him since he had promised Mycroft earlier he would play the role of his husband. If he had to think about it, he would not find this role difficult and burdensome. What's more, he liked it. But he was not going to chase Mycroft and tell him he changed his plans because he wasn't sure what to do. He knew he should be getting ready, so he changed his shoes, put on a silk shirt and a light vest, which was a must-have even on hot days. He admired Mycroft because he rarely parted with his suit, even when just looking at him was enough to get a fever. However, in such surroundings and company, the lack of elegance was very badly seen.

He closed the apartment and went down the stairs to the lobby. Molly and Sherlock were waiting for him. Genius allowed the girl to stick to him and he patiently did not avoid her wooing. Molly held his forearm. She was in a euphoric state, and not even John's presence changed that. The three of them went towards the gondola. The boat was there to take them to the other end of the canal. Molly was sitting right next to Sherlock, and John opposite them next to the gondolier's legs. He almost rolled his eyes when he looked at the happy woman and his friend. Genius did not return her joy and enchantment in the same way, but her presence did not seem to bother him. What's more, he still wasn't looking at John.

John felt worse because of that. He did not expect big things, but such obvious ignorance and lack of any interest caused him pain. He fidgeted impatiently until the end of the journey, and when the gondola reached the shore, he wanted to jump out of it first, so he did not have to look at this performance any longer.

"Where are we going? Here?" Molly asked, pointing her finger at the large dome building. She stayed close to Sherlock, who nodded and led her ahead. John stayed behind to avoid Sherlock's prying eyes. Of course, his friend never looked at him while they were traveling in a gondola, but for some reason, John knew Sherlock was watching him all this time.

Due to a large number of tourists who visited the beautiful Basilica of La Salute, they had to wait in line almost until noon. Sherlock was patient as usual, although he had never been interested in architecture before, so it was strange he waited so long without a whimper just to see something that had no valuable knowledge that he would need in the future. They finished the tour after 1 PM. They were struck by the terrible heat and crowds of tourists when they went outside. They decided to eat something before other people will feel hungry too. They realized they would not have a chance to find a place in any restaurant if they left it for later. John carefully watched his friend's behavior as they walked towards 'Agli Alboretti'. It was a small restaurant they chose earlier. John was still thinking about Sherlock's behavior. There had to be some explanation for his ignorance. He couldn't just change his mind day by day. Did he plan to have a war with him? Did he irritate him on purpose? What was his plan? Where was the obtrusive but charming Sherlock who was seeking his attention? He did not want him to behave like this every day - he would not bear it in London - but he did not understand this sudden change. Sherlock was up to something, but John had no idea what exactly. 

When they arrived, John couldn't get over how cozy and peaceful the restaurant was. It didn't make such a good impression from outside. But everyone felt relaxed as they walked inside. It was probably thanks to the plants that surrounded the clients from all sides. John felt, he was no longer in the bustling old town, but somewhere in a small village. It made him smile for the first time that day.

"Everything is so expensive here ... A glass of water costs almost as much as dinner in an ordinary London bar," Molly muttered, browsing the menu. A cheerful smile did not disappear from her face.

"Don't worry about the prices. I invited you and I will pay" Sherlock's tone was indifferent. He was sitting next to the girl checking something on the phone. He held his other hand slung over the back of her chair.

"And you, John?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I don't even want to think about the food at such a temperature ..." he said casually and ... Oh, there we go! There's Sherlock's reaction. He looked up from the phone only to see if he had heard it correctly. John wanted to kick his calf under the table. Yes, he knew that look. Sherlock was surprised every time his friend refused to eat as if he were addicted to it. John crossed his arms over his chest.

"I just need something light. Besides, I don't have too much money on me, and I'm not going to charge Mycroft with extra costs," he said, sipping water.

"It's so strange!" Molly said and looked at John. "I don't know Sherlock's brother well and I had no idea, he ... prefers the other side. I mean, I don't mean... I do not judge him, but ... You and him? Somehow I can't imagine you two together ".

"Don't imagine too much, Molly. Thinking about my brother can only hurt you, and it certainly won't do anything good ..." Sherlock muttered in his low voice, putting the phone in his pocket and gently taking the menu from the girl's hand.

John didn't comment. He only stared darkly at his face and wondered why he enjoyed making bitter comments about his brother so much. Of course, he knew, Sherlock also talked about him, though he doubted Molly knew and could catch the nuances. John slowly started to conclude that Sherlock's behavior had one reason. Maybe he was testing his sexuality? Did he see his friend and brother and he wanted to feel the same? Maybe it awakened feelings that he did not know or avoided until now? When he became convinced that he was not feeling what he should have with the man - which he thought he should feel - he decided to check how things would be with the woman. John could have come to such conclusions easily when he analyzed Sherlock's behavior since they were in Venice.

John felt nothing. Neither anger nor relief and he didn't care what would happen in the following hours. He sat absently in front of the sparkling Molly and Sherlock, who was still ignoring him. He tried to speak as little as possible and not attract unnecessary attention. He sank into his thoughts. When the waiter brought his dinner he ate it with indifference, getting tired with every bite. At the end of dinner, Molly disappeared somewhere - he supposed she had gone to the toilet - and the waiter brought the bill, leaving it on the table in a small leather folder. John sighed softly, but as he reached for it, Sherlock's voice stopped him. A friendly and warm voice, as if nothing had happened, and the whole day and his strange behavior was his imagination.

"I'll take care of it, John ..." he said, checking the bill and reaching into his pocket for his wallet. When he pulled it out, he didn't notice the small plastic wrap that got tangled between his fingers and landed on the ground, right next to John's feet.

John was not born yesterday. He knew what was in the purple wrapper. Even Sherlock's quick reaction, who immediately covered the wrapper with his shoe didn't help. His move was desperate. He froze and did not look up. John had every reason to believe his supposition was true. He sat without a word, staring at the empty glass on the table, not even knowing about Sherlock's terrified look. It was time to go home.

\---

When John returned to the apartment, he fell on the bed and put his cheek on a soft pillow. He only had the strength to remove his shoes with the tips of his toes, because he fell asleep a moment later, surrounded by the pleasant scent of fresh bedding. He didn't sleep long, but enough to rest his body. He regained consciousness when the bedroom got a bit colder and when he heard Molly's muted laughter from the other apartment through the open window. It wasn't an annoying sound, but John had had enough of these two for one day. He took his pillow and covered his ears with it. There was a pleasant silence for a moment. He wondered what he would do until the end of the day, or rather the evening because he had time to notice that the sun had to hide behind the horizon. He knew he had three options. He could stay in the room, which would be a great loss because it was his penultimate evening in Venice, he could also leave the room and come across Sherlock and listen to Molly's delighted sighs, or spend the evening with Mycroft. The last option pleased to him the most. After all, he was supposed to pretend to be his husband. Besides, he had to admit when Mycroft did not make his comments and refrained from pointing out his mistakes, spending time with him was a pleasure and was associated with a hint of adrenaline because John never knew who they would meet and what they would have to do.

It was getting warmer and stuffy under the pillow. John tossed it aside and felt a pleasant chill on his face. At the same time, someone left the bathroom.

"Forgive me, I wasn't going to interrupt your sleep," Mycroft said, turning sideways and closing the door behind him. He had a shirt hanging on his shoulder. He folded it and put it carefully into a half-packed suitcase next to the wardrobe.

"I haven't slept ..." John replied, sitting on the bed. He watched the older man for a moment, then yawned and rubbed his hazy eyes with his fingers. "... Mycroft, you talked about a farewell party this morning. Is your offer still stands?".

The genius gave him a surprised look and straightened up, closing the ever-broken wardrobe, which irritated him from the beginning. He grimaced at the creak and propped the door with his suitcase.

"Absolutely. Actually, John, everyone is hoping you would come," he said, looking at the doctor.

John waited a moment, then finally got out of bed with a small smile, passed Mycroft and stood in front of the bathroom door. "Give me ten minutes."

"Easy, John. The party starts in half an hour, so you don't have to hurry. I'll wait for you."

The doctor gave him a warm smile and when he pulled the door handle, for some reason he felt that the man was grateful and relieved, although he did not say it out loud. The bathroom was still stuffy and sultry, and although Mycroft wiped the mirror, folded towels, and straightened all the creams, perfumes and even toothbrushes on the shelf, John could still smell his scent on every item. It was as if he were surrounding him with his arms. He liked the smell and since he had more time, he decided not to hurry and take a cool bath instead of a shower. He lay in the tub and soaked his swollen legs until he knew he had to leave. He wasn't such a pedant like Mycroft, so he just drained the bathtub, hung up towels, and rinsed the bathtub with running water. When he left the bathroom, he looked around, but there was no sign of his husband anywhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flashing LED on the cell phone. He wrapped the robe more tightly, went to his phone and read the message.

I have to get something done. I'll wait for you near the reception.

He smiled under his breath. Sherlock and Mycroft were very similar, though they didn't even know it or didn't want to admit it. These short, concise messages were so similar, it was easy to confuse who actually wrote them. Sherlock or Mycroft? They both had the habit of informing the other party with the least amount of words. John wasn't surprised when Mycroft did it. His messages made sense. But when Sherlock sent messages, it was short but often lacked valuable content. These were just notifications that he was bored or he didn't have interesting investigations.

He turned to the closet with the phone in his hand and saw a tailcoat hanging on the hanger together with a matching bow tie and shoes lying on the ground. He had not seen it before in the closet and wondered for a moment if it really belonged to him. However, the size and cut suited him, so John threw the phone on the mattress and came closer to the gift. He studied the material for a moment and inhaled the pleasant smell of his new shirt. Without waiting long, he changed his clothes and after putting on - oh gods! - comfortable shoes, he looked at his reflection in the living room mirror. He had to admit that Mycroft's taste impressed him and he wanted to thank him for this gift as soon as possible. Besides, he couldn't wait for the party. He felt like meeting Francesca again and he felt strangely militant, so even the thought of confrontation with Aaron seemed intriguing to him.

He laced up his shoes and left all unnecessary things. He left the apartment, closing the door. He almost immediately came across Molly, who was passing by, so he smiled at her.

"I'm glad I found you, John. Sherlock wants to spend the evening together with me in the bar downstairs. He asks if you want to join us ..." she said, looked at him curiously.

"Sorry, I have other plans, but thank you for inviting me, Molly," he replied, trying not to sound as excited as he really was. He passed the girl and walked to the stairs.

"Where are you going?" she asked and walked over to the railing.

"I want to spend some time with Mycroft, he is my husband after all," he added, hopping carefully down the stairs. He hadn't doubt Molly would tell Sherlock about it, but at that moment he didn't care how his friend would react. He had no intention of playing his games, and the idea of accompanying Mycroft at the party was far more enjoyable than dealing with Sherlock's bizarre behavior. When he reached the hall, he saw Mycroft standing at the porter's lodge and talking to someone. He didn't notice John, who came up and stood next to him.

"Thank you," he whispered. Mycroft turned and looked him up and down. Their eyes met, and for the first time in a week, John saw this Mycroft who had won his sympathy during his first days in Venice. He had that gleam in his eyes again, self-confidence and something like gratitude for that he did not leave him alone in this situation. The older man did not answer, just lifted the corners of his mouth and walked with him towards the main door. The party took place in another hotel near the Danieli Hotel. It was late evening, so the temperature was not as high as during the day. A pleasant breeze cooled the face of John and Mycroft, and a much smaller crowd allowed them to breathe fresh air. Somewhere halfway, John realized this perfect picture was missing one detail. He stepped closer to Mycroft and took his hand. He did not expect a reaction, but genius looked at him in surprise. He wanted to say something, but he looked away and returned the squeeze.

"Last days were very ... nervous and I thought we should take a break from each other," Mycroft said, looking at his feet. He glanced at the canal from time to time and narrowed his eyes. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't going to inform you about the party because I know you don't like these meetings ..." he said, still not looking at John, though he felt his eyes on him.

John was grateful he said it that way. Usually, Mycroft would also add something about class differences or stress caused by the surroundings of so many people in such high positions. This time he even spared the mention that he would like to avoid this meeting too and would like to lock himself in the room and give up the party, justifying himself with a cheap lie. Mycroft acted like a gentleman, which made John want to pat him on the shoulder and tease him a little bit. He did not do it and remained silent.

"I didn't mean to force you to come," the older man added finally. John just smiled under his breath, squeezing his hand more tightly.

They were both silents until they finally stood at the door of the great WildnerHotel. John was a little surprised. It was an ordinary and unremarkable building with a small cafe in front of the entrance. How did it deserve to gather so many important people? John had no idea ... Until he came in.

The interior reminded John of what he saw at the Danieli Hotel. It had different colors though and a more modern style. The marble floor sparkled with lights flickering around. The hotel staff greeted everyone with a smile and a small bow. Mycroft pulled John forward. Behind the great stairs was a hall with a purple carpet. There was a glass door at the very end of the corridor. John saw the flashing lights and heard muted elegant music. When they came through the glass door, they saw a huge banquet hall. Black, shiny carpet covered half of the room. The tables and chairs were set up in front of the dance floor. People gathered in larger and smaller groups, occupying almost every free space. They talked to each other, laughed and discussed important and less important matters. John has never seen such elegant people. He almost had to squint when he was looking at women's jewelry. He looked around and noticed there was no person who did not hold a glass of champagne or a stronger drink.

Their presence attracted people's attention. John and Mycroft became the object of interest to everyone around. They slowly entered the crowd, still holding hands. John did not feel stupid as at the first banquet, the fact he kept close to Mycroft encouraged him. He was becoming more and more confident with each passing moment. He didn't see the sinister glances, he didn't hear the appalling whispers that he feared the most. But once in a while someone patted him on the shoulder or tried to engage him in a short conversation. John didn't know if it was due to complete acceptance or the presence of someone as influential as Mycroft Holmes. Wherever he looked, he saw smiles, but after a while, their presence ceased to cause such a great stir. The guests returned to their conversations, and John finally breathed a sigh of relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Francesca, who was approaching him, so he released Mycroft's hand and walked toward her. Mycroft mingled into the crowd and after a while, he was surrounded by other influential people.

"You are look fabulous, my John," Francesca said in a gentle voice, giving John a glass of champagne.

"And you are outshining all the women in this room," he replied, unable to take his eyes off her shapely body in a long black dress. Her hair was tied in a bun, and her long but slightly wrinkled neck was adorned with a shiny necklace. John couldn't stop smiling. He took the glass and with the other hand raised her hand and kissed her slim fingers.

"You are a complimentary. You like to made Mycroft jealous, don't you?" she asked with a giggle, clutching his forearm. They both stood facing the room and watched the other guests.

"Too bad it's the end. This is my first time and I think I will always envy Mycroft..." he said, sipping champagne.

"You have to persuade him to take you with him more often, honey. What a pity he didn't introduce you before. I'm angry for that and I'll tell him to take care of you like now. You are such a wonderful couple, John and I really would like to know you better".

John looked at her, leaned slightly and brushed her cheek with his lips. He adored this woman and was sad at the thought that maybe these were the last moments he spent with her. He didn't think Mycroft would ever ask him for a similar favor again because he had done his job. He showed up as his husband, won the trust of many people and helped the older man get out of the situation unscathed. His task ended there. But if he had the opportunity, would he agree to it again? This question came to John's mind so suddenly that he barely caught Francesca's next words.

"John ... promise me we'll have a farewell dinner tomorrow. I won't let you and Mycroft leaves without saying goodbye," she said, grabbing his forearm with both hands and staring at him with almost imploring eyes. How would John refuse her? He didn't even want to. He gave her a warm smile, but when he was about to steal her kiss again, he saw a couple entering the room out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and felt like sighing at the sight of Sherlock and Molly, who was holding on to his hand.

It was obvious that their presence was unexpected and they came to the party without an invitation. They caused no less commotion than Mycroft and John several minutes earlier. They proudly entered the room. John immediately looked at Holmes, who was standing on the other side of the room. He saw Mycroft roll his eyes and walked toward the long table with alcohol.

Of course, Mycroft was not surprised by his brother's behavior and decisions. He knew him too well not to know about his intentions and the next steps. But even Mycroft found it an exaggeration when he saw his brother flaunting his plan. He felt sorry for John because Sherlock did it all because of him. He wanted to admonish his brother using something stronger than the usual warning words. This whole show with Miss Hooper was so artificial that he couldn't deny himself a glass of whiskey. He didn't even want to see John's face, though he knew perfectly well how he must have felt when his friend appeared in the room.

He rubbed his forehead with his free hand and turned toward the dance floor. He was surprised to discover that Miss Hooper's happy times were over. She stood alone among strangers, while his brother disappeared behind the evacuation door, most likely using the opportunity to smoke. Mycroft couldn't leave it like this. He walked slowly and calmly toward the exit with a glass of alcohol in his hand. He passed talking and satisfied guests, passed loners who were not looking for company, and finally went outside the hotel. He saw his brother standing over a narrow channel and blowing smoke straight into the sky. Without a word, he stood beside him and put his free hand in his pants pocket, sipping his whiskey. They did not say a word for a long time before the elder of them finally decided to speak first.

"I know what you doing, Sherlock, and it hurts just to look at your efforts," he said and once again tasted the strong drink. He didn't hear the answer, so he continued. "As I can see, Miss Adler's instruction was not in vain. Awakened hope, loss, and finally a happy ending. Tell me, Sherlock, why did you decide to try it on John? When will you stop acting like a cold bastard and you will focus all your attention on him again? After returning to London? Or maybe tonight?"

Sherlock stood still and refused to comment. However, the glowing tip and quickly disappearing cigarette assured Mycroft that his words echoed in his curly head.

"Don't you think two days is a bit too little to make someone fall in love, abandon, and then spread your arms again and whisper a confession of love in his ear?"

"Thanks to you, I don't have as much time as Miss Adler ..." the younger genius murmured in an almost dark tone. He didn't look at his brother. He blew smoke through his nose. "... Anyway, John is naive and easier to manipulate than me."

"You don't say," Mycroft said with obvious amusement and a smile. "Dream on, Sherlock ... You forgot everything I taught you. You can dictate to other people what they should feel, but in the end, it's their own decision. You won't always be able to control their thoughts and feelings, you can only manage it what they think at the moment. It doesn't work in the long run. And if you hadn't noticed, John is not as simple as it may seem and sometimes he behaves completely incomprehensibly by our standards. Of course, I don't even mention the fact you - as his friend - should not manipulate him like that".

"Look who is talking ..." Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth. Mycroft looked at him and fell silent for a long time, knowing what he meant by that.

"Do you know that John is suffering because of your behavior?" he asked, wanting to make his brother feel guilty. And it worked. Sherlock twitched and froze. "You understood only some emotions and feelings, you think you know them better than I do... You can play with them, but you completely do not know the subtleties of this world, Sherlock. You don't know the feelings of sadness and rejection. And John is at the stage of dealing with them ... The effect may surprise you. "

Sherlock looked at his brother for the first time that day. His eyes gleamed, and his face seemed even whiter in the moonlight.

"Don't hurt him, brother mine."

"What do you want? Why do you care about him ... Why do you care about the good of someone other than yourself? Usually, you only see the tip of your nose and you do not care what others would think. I will start to suspect that your words are something more. Do not tell me you started to follow your deeper feelings, Mycroft ... " he asked ironically, but he fell silent and a smirk disappeared from his face when he saw Mycroft's serious expression and his tense body. Sherlock finished his cigarette furiously, and he threw the tip into the water in the canal. He turned on his heel, leaving his silent brother and returned to the room, where he started to look for his friend. He saw him talking to Francesca.

John saw his friend, so he kissed Francesca's cheek and went deeper into the room. He took a few steps when he felt Sherlock's strong arm on his elbow.

"John ... ".

The doctor turned to him with a surprised expression. "Oh, are we talking now?" he asked, leaning back.

"John, listen ..." Sherlock couldn't finish because his friend managed to free himself away from his hand. He was about to move on when he suddenly saw a stir among the guests and heard a distorted male voice. Someone stood in the middle of the dance floor and surrounded Mycroft with his arm. Mycroft pretended everything was fine and that forced touch didn't bother him. John could not understand the man's words, but when everyone looked in his direction, he understood he should join his husband in the middle of the room. He ignored Sherlock, pushed through the crowd, and finally stood next to Mycroft. Suddenly people started to encourage them to do something that John did not understand yet. He was a bit confused, so he looked at Mycroft and the other man who leaned toward him.

"Please. Do us the honor. Mycroft finally let us meet you after so many years. Do not deny us that kiss," he said, trying not to scream, but the buzz of people was big. John looked at Mycroft, who stood proudly, but his slightly pink cheeks and clenched teeth indicated that he was uncomfortable in this situation. When their eyes met, Mycroft handed the glass over to the other man and looked at John apologetically. But John did not seem angry at the situation. He approached the other man even more and raised his chin invitingly. He felt Mycroft's warm arm around him and his hand on his cheek. He put his hands on Mycroft's chest, and a moment later their lips joined in a kiss. At that moment, everything ceased to matter. Cheers and applause of the people, the awareness that Sherlock had witnessed this kiss, and even the shyness he would usually feel if he kissed another man in the presence of so many people. Kissing Mycroft came as easily as if he had been doing it for years. He did not control his lust, and deepened his kiss, forcing the older man to lean even more. He sucked his lower lip between his lips and let it out after a few seconds, leaving it wet and slightly swollen. He stared at Mycroft's dilated pupils, who blinked quickly and smiled first at him and then at the others. At that moment, John understood what he had just done. He lowered his head and, trying not to blush with all his might, quickly disappeared from the dance floor, looking for a quieter place. Along the way, he grabbed the glass, not checking what was in it, and when the applause died down, he holed up the corner of the room, where he calmed his raging heart. It took a few moments before he realized that Molly stood alone a few feet away. He came to her.

"What happened, Molly? Why are you standing here alone?"

"Oh John!" she screamed, trying to hide her nervousness and embarrassment. Deep blushes decorated her cheeks, and a trembling voice convinced John that something was wrong. "Sorry ... it was the first time I saw two men kissing in front of my eyes ..." she added, trying to cover her face.

"Are you all right?" John asked, trying to look at her eyes.

The girl, however, stared at the floor and avoided his stare. "What? Ah, yes ... But you know ... Sherlock started to ignore me, and I have not had contact with Aaron since the morning ... It seems that both of them avoid me" she added with a sad and forced smile, glancing at John. He ignored the mention of Stoner, but the news that Sherlock had left her alone surrounded by so many strangers was a surprise to him. They looked like a couple until now. What was happening here?

"But why? I don't understand. After what happened last night, I think even he is serious enough to ...

"You know?" Molly asked, looking at John. She was shocked. She was pale and her eyes grew larger than ever before. John looked a bit confused by her question but nodded.

"Well ... yes. I guessed right away ..."

"God, John ... I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid that I let him convince me and I betrayed your trust. But he urged me!"

"Who? Sherlock?"

Molly looked at him in surprise.

"No. Aaron! He promised that if I help him find evidence that you and Sherlock are more than friends, or if I find something interesting and let him know, it will be good for both of us. I agreed, but in good intentions, John! ... I accidentally saw you with Sherlock and took pictures of you, and later I sent them to Aaron. I thought he would need it only in an emergency and that his attitude towards me would not change. But after our night together, he stopped talking to me! I know I did wrong, John, I shouldn't listen to him and now you will have problems because of me ...!"

John tried to calm her by grasping her shoulders.

"Calm down, Molly. So, it was Stoner ... and you didn't sleep with Sherlock?" he asked with a small hesitation.

Molly just stared at him in reproach. "No. I spent the night with Aaron ... he wanted to thank me ..." she added full of anger at her own naivety. "Sherlock returned to the room a few hours later. I thought everything would work out, but Aaron didn't answer my calls and he avoided me since then. I didn't know what was going on, but then Sherlock started to behave so strangely ... I was sad, John and I didn't want to be alone. I used Sherlock's kindness, and now he doesn't speak to me. I don't know what to do anymore ... "she said covering her face. 

John wanted to comfort her. He never left women alone like that, but now his biggest problem was Stoner. He was holding Molly's arms and at the same time was looking around the room in search of that bastard who was using even such naive people like Molly. John was angry and terrified about the effects of Molly's decisions and actions, but he had no time to be angry with her now, he was afraid of Mycroft's reaction and Stoner's next steps.

He glanced desperately around the room until he saw a proud and tall figure standing next to ... oh god ... Mycroft! Yes, Stoner talked to him. And what was worse, the dark smile on his face did not go away. What was he up to? Aaron pulled a phone out of his pocket and leaned over Mycroft with a triumphant smile, showing him something on the screen. John saw the older man stiffen and then his face whitened as Stoner whispered something in his ear. After a while, both men left the room using the side door. John sensed the problems were just beginning and the end of the trip would be very stressful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few words about the next story - I decided to write Johnlock. Why? The next story is more polished and I have many details in my head I would like to write about. I have thought about it for some time now.
> 
> I suspect many of you are reading this story for Johncroft. I love it too! Could I write a story about them after this one? I think yes. But I don't want to do this. I think Johncroft deserves more of my attention and improvement. I don't want it to be some boring story, or a story mainly about sex. Of course, I pay the same amount of attention to each of my work, so you can expect the most polished story that I am able to write.
> 
> I hope you understand this and you are not too sad if Johnlock is not your thing. But each of them will get as much attention as they deserve, so please, no worries!
> 
> Therefore, I would ask you for help. This is a very short survey that will help me write a story you would like to read. If this will not make you too much trouble, look there. It will take you less than 15 seconds. Thank you for your help!
> 
> The survey:
> 
> https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/LCD8KSH


	19. Chapter 19

The hotel's back door was right above the narrow canal at the back of the building. When the door closed, Mycroft could only hear the muted sounds of music and conversations. He followed Aaron without a word. Stoner led him to a place only he knew. They walked in total darkness. The walkway was just two feet wide, separating the walls of the buildings from the water at the bottom of the canal. Aaron never looked back, but he seemed relaxed and pleased with himself. He walked briskly with his hands in his pockets. Mycroft could bet he was smiling in this specific way. An unpleasant smell from above the water irritated his nose, and the rough and shabby walls did not make it easier to balance on unstable and wet pavement slabs. They passed the backs of several buildings and finally reached the back door of one of the hotels. Mycroft assumed it was the Savoia & Jolanda hotel, but he wasn't sure if he was right.

Aaron pushed the door open and they both went inside. Mycroft saw a metal staircase leading to the upper floors on his right. Aaron went first, by Mycroft watched people and hotel staff for a moment. They didn't even notice when two unknown men slipped inside their hotel. The waitresses were bustling around the tables at the back of the hotel restaurant. The bartenders were busy preparing drinks, and the manager earnestly, but tactfully tried to calm down three men who were intoxicated by alcohol for sure. Mycroft didn't even want to comment. He followed Aaron. As they climbed the next floors, Aaron turned a smile at him with his hands in his pockets.

"A few more steps, Myc," he said cheerfully and was surprised to see Holmes's face.

Mycroft never bragged about his resolutions and how hard he trained, trying to get rid of excess weight, he had in childhood. At the moment, he congratulated himself in his mind for all this, because to Aaron's great surprise and probably a disappointment, he didn't gasp like a man who had run a marathon, nor did he sweat so much. He was a bit tired but tried his best not to show it. He walked proudly with his head raised. They reached the top floor of the building, walked through the elegant hall and passed several apartments until they finally reached their destination. Aaron put the key in the door and stepped inside, leaving it open. Meanwhile, Mycroft looked at the two bodyguards occupying both sides of the door.

One of them was huge. He could barely fit into the door, and Holmes wondered how often he used to step sideways into the room with his head bowed. The tight material of the blazer on his shoulders left no illusions about his favorite way of spending free time. The other man - the more pleasing to the eye - had hair unlike the first and wore dark glasses. He stood staring straight ahead, like in movies he was obviously a fan of. Mycroft immediately realized which of them was the more intelligent one. He turned to the musclehead and gave him his phone. It wasn't the first time he was in this kind of situation and he knew the procedures. But for the first time, it concerned him. Usually, he was the interrogating and threatening party. He wasn't feeling well on the other side.

"Shoes too, sir," he said in a deep voice.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"The carpet" the bodyguard muttered and nodded toward the center of the room. "Persian, it seems."

Holmes sighed, but dutifully took off his shoes and set them near the door.

Aaron was already waiting for him in the small living room connected to the bedroom. The bright blue decor and the sloping ceiling next to the bed was not very elegant, which is why Mycroft was not surprised that this apartment was one of the cheapest in this area. He came over to Aaron, who was already pouring strong alcohol into two crystal glasses.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just go to your place?" Mycroft asked and took the offered alcohol.

Aaron shook his shoulders. "You never know if someone is listening. I preferred to spend some money to bribe the owner of this sanctuary, rather than stress over the agility and speed of your people. No one will interrupt us here," he added with a smile.

"You always liked to dramatize."

"I just want to make sure I can celebrate the win this time. Usually, you're the winner," Aaron sighed, but he was in a good mood.

"My people are probably exploring the whole city looking for me. Calm them down, or else they'll be able to turn the city upside down," Holmes murmured indifferently and sat down in the armchair that Aaron elegantly showed him with an open hand.

"Yeah, yeah. By the way ... could you?" Aaron asked kindly and pointed to Mycroft's tie.

Holmes rolled his eyes. He set the glass down on the low table between them, then undid the tie clip and both cufflinks and pulled the lighter out of his trousers pocket. "I work for MI6 and I assure you that we have hidden gadgets like mini wiretaps, transmitters or cameras in more obvious places," he said and put everything aside.

"Who knows. You Brits have your ways," Aaron said with a smile on his face. He reached for the empty glass, turned it over and placed it on Mycroft's things.

"Get to the point. What are you going to do with this photo? To tell you the truth, I have long known that you are just waiting for the opportunity to play a game with me, but I didn't think you would be interested in my John and you would use him to reach your goal ".

Aaron smiled even wider and sat back in his armchair with a drink near his mouth. "Your John?" he asked. He saw Mycroft blink nervously and looked away.

"Let my people know where I am" he insisted.

"Relax, Myc. We won't be sitting here for hours." Aaron teased him. He knew Holmes hated it when someone called him that.

Mycroft did not react. "Speak then. What is this all about?".

\---

John still felt chills and unpleasant pain in his stomach. When the door closed behind Aaron and Mycroft, he knew he had to do something. He couldn't leave him after what he saw. He was sure that Stoner was up to something and finally decided to take the lead. He had to help Mycroft, although he didn't know how. He looked at Molly, who was still looking at him apologetically.

"I have to go," he said and stroked her shoulders comfortingly. He headed for the back door. He tried not to attract attention, so he avoided the largest clusters of people, stayed away from the dance floor and tables filled with food and alcohol. Despite his efforts many people tried to catch him for a short conversation. He apologized to everyone and did not stop moving forward. Suddenly he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. He didn't even have time to turn around when he heard his friend's voice on his right ear.

"No, not this way, John. We must first get rid of the people who are following us." Sherlock looked discreetly from side to side, still slightly leaning over him, and turned John around. "The man in the red bow tie and the two by the stairs are Stoner's people. They've been watching you closely from the start," he murmured, still close to his friend's face.

John wasn't angry with Sherlock for ignoring him anymore. His irritation gave way to concern and a slight relief that he was not alone with this problem. He looked behind the young genius and it turned out that he was indeed under surveillance. He realized he had not met these people before at any of the meetings. He looked into the friend's eyes and lowered his voice, because at the moment the orchestra decided to play a more melodic and calmer music. "What we do?" he asked, trying to calm his raging heart.

"We'll leave the main door normally and then try to get rid of them". Sherlock pulled back a little. He put his hand on John's shoulder and walked back into the room with him.

They both tried to squeeze through the crowd of talking personalities until they finally reached the double glass door. They walked quietly through the lobby and left the hotel. They were sure they were being followed but did not look back. It was crowded outside. It was not late, but people were gathering in nearby restaurants. Some tourists were already enjoying the charms of the night, others were passing by, looking for a free place at any of the tables. The promenade by the main channel was teeming with people of all ages and sexes. Tasty smells from all the surrounding hotels spread in the air, and conversations were heard over the water. Waiters ran around with full trays, from hotels to tables. The musician was sitting on a low stool with a mandolin on his lap at one of the restaurations.

Sherlock quickly looked around. A moment later he raised a corner of his mouth and stood next to one of the tables. For a moment he looked at the owner of the restaurant, who was talking to the guests and tried to sell them some obviously cheap wine.

"Squisito, squisito!" He repeated. He held a bottle of wine in one hand and put the fingers of the other to his lips in a typical Italian gesture, imitating the sounds of smacking. "Questo e il miglior vino della zona."

"Did you mean this place, John? That is where they sell the best remedy for purging?" Sherlock asked loudly, without looking at anyone around. He stared at the inscription of the hotel and pretended that he had not noticed how the short owner with a bushy mustache, perfectly fitting into the Italian stereotype, turns to him and gives him a dissatisfied look. "Is this the place where they, as you say, mix wine with water?"

John came closer to his friend, unable to believe what he was saying. "Sherlock ..."

"You said you spent the last two days in the toilet and cursed every bite of meal they gave you," he continued. He did not look at the owner who was red with anger.

The man put down the bottle, put his hands on his hips and looked at Sherlock and John.

"But looking at this hotel, I am not sure if you had to relieve your frustration on the internet so much. Now, no one who is sane will came here on ..." Sherlock did not finish. He saw from the corner of his eye as the restaurant owner approaches John and leans back with his fist ready to strike.

John had no problem avoiding the blow. He ducked and took a step to the side. The owner must have been slightly drunk, because John's surprising dodge staggered him, and he flew forward. He bumped into a passing man who fell on the pavement. He cursed in English, but with an American accent. He stood up immediately and grimaced in anger. He also looked drunk. The restaurant owner wanted to alleviate the situation somehow, but comrades of the American stood behind their friend. Suddenly one man pushed the other. Someone grabbed someone. In an instant, the men started to fight. And others joined them. Some even with a smile. Apparently, they were just looking for opportunities to hit someone in the teeth. The number of fighters increased with each passing moment. Some women started to scream, others pulled children to safety. Plates and glasses flew through the air, and gondoliers stood in their boats and vigorously cheered on the fighters. A humorous accent of the scene was added by a musician who gave up the Italian ballad in favor of a more rhythmic and lively song. He wasn't worried about his uncle, who, even as the owner of the restaurant, was not spared by the crowd, nor his aunt who ran out of the kitchen and shouted at him to help his uncle and break the row.

John and Sherlock disappeared into the crowd. Genius was certain, they managed to lose Stoner's people. He saw them pushed out of the crowd to the very edge of the concourse. "Perfect, John," he said with a smile. "Now let's go inside," he added and pulled his friend inside the hotel in front of which the whole row was taking place.

"Sherlock! How could you?" John asked when they reached the back door of the hotel.

"Easy, John. I knew you could handle it. And you could vent the frustration," he added cheerfully.

John may have been angry, but he smiled back. He was about to go out with his friend to the back of the building when he suddenly realized that all this time Molly was with them. He turned to her and frowned. "Molly, what are you doing here? Why didn't you stay at the party?"

The girl did not know what to say. She shrugged and looked at her feet. "I didn't want to stay there alone. I thought you were coming back to the hotel."

John looked at Sherlock. They had no other choice. After all, they couldn't leave Molly alone when people were fighting outside and the chairs started to fly in the air.

Sherlock sighed. "All right. You're coming with us, Molly. But try to be quiet." He came out on a narrow passage behind the buildings. The same passage that Mycroft and Stoner were passing by some time ago. It was night, and tall buildings obstructed every possible source of light. They walked slowly and in silence along the walls of the hotels.

John carefully took every step. He was holding Molly's left hand. She was right behind him. "Do you know where Mycroft is?" he asked Sherlock.

"No. But I guess with who and what they are talking about," the genius muttered quietly.

"Then where are we going?" he asked.

"To Stoner's apartment." He tried to penetrate the darkness, but it was extremely difficult. He could hear his friend's breathing behind him and the sound of Molly's shoes hitting the ground. He stopped and turned his head. "Molly, don't make that noise with your heels. We must be quiet to slip unnoticed, and Stoner's people can be anywhere. They are looking for us".

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But these shoes are a little too big. I can't walk quietly," she added and looked at her elegant gold shoes.

"Then take them off."

Molly didn't answer. John knew why. The dirt and the chance to come across the glass was not an extremely pleasant option. John and Sherlock looked at each other in silence. At the moment when the girl was about to bend down to untie the belt surrounding her ankle, John spoke to her in a whisper.

"Molly. Turn around and bend your knee."

She did so. She grabbed the long dress in her hand and slowly turned around. She leaned against the wall and bent her knee.

John held her foot. He grabbed the thin heel with his free hand and broke it with a quick, determined movement. He did the same with the other shoe. He threw both heels to the water. He turned to Sherlock but did not notice the smile on his face because of the darkness. A moment later they went ahead again. Danieli Hotel was really close. All they had to do was cross the narrow channel separating them from one of several extra doors. They climbed on the gondola standing by the shore, not without problems because Molly almost lost her balance, but John's strong hand saved her from falling from a shaky boat into the water. They entered the hotel through the side door and breathed a sigh of relief. Only Sherlock looked around carefully.

"How will we know which room is his?" John asked.

"The one where there will be a lot of people nearby. Stoner cares about his privacy. His people will not arouse suspicion, even at this hour, but we can be sure they will be there."

The three of them moved deeper into the hotel. John had never been in this part before. After making sure that the first two floors did not have the apartment they were looking for, they climbed the top floor. The apartments were separated by a wide corridor. They saw breathtaking sculptures, giant flower pots, and a long red carpet. At the end of the corridor in the back of the building was another elegant restaurant, or maybe it was like a restroom, John wasn't sure. He saw several men and two women talking at a small table. He stared at Sherlock, who looked back at him. Stoner's room was at the very end of the corridor, right next to the restaurant. They had no chance to get inside unnoticed.

Sherlock looked around and walked to the large window between the walls of the two apartments. He opened the old 10-foot high window without any problems. The hotel staff probably never thought that anyone would try to go outside in this way because Sherlock just had to slightly lift the frame, and the window silently opened. Sherlock leaned outside. A metal balcony separated him from falling from a height. He also noticed bits of ragged cloth left by the cleaner. There were less than two feet to the small terrace belonging to the adjoining apartment. Sherlock put his foot over the railing without hesitation and jumped gracefully onto the neighboring balcony. He turned to John and helped him land safely next to him. He almost froze when he saw Molly following their actions.

"Psst ... Molly, what are you doing?" he asked quietly.

The girl looked at him with one leg slung over the railing. "I'm going with you".

"Come back to the room. John and I can handle it alone" Sherlock tried to convince her that her further efforts could only cause them more problems.

"It's my fault that John and your brother are having problems now. I want to help you," she murmured quietly but firmly. She didn't give up.

Sherlock and John sighed. They helped her climb the balcony. They went through three more balconies in this way, and finally reached the window in Stoner's bedroom. Sherlock wrestled with the frame for a short moment, and John admired his skills in concentration. He was convinced that his friend would be an excellent burglar if he only wanted to, and thanks to his brilliance and eloquence he would be able to get out of every slip-up.

The window finally cracked and the three of them slipped in quietly. John didn't even have time to look around, because Sherlock lit a small lamp by the bed and started to search the drawers.

"What are we actually doing here?" Molly asked.

"Or rather, what are we looking for?" John added.

Sherlock didn't answer for a moment, but he finally straightened up and looked at them. "Something that is here, but from a logical point of view should not be. Look for single folders, papers, maybe tiles. Everything that lies separately and does not match the rest."

\---

The silence in the room continued. Mycroft kept his eyes on Aaron, who was smiling. Stoner calmly sipped alcohol until he knew that further war on glances with Mycroft made no sense. He slowly got up from the chair. He put his hand in his pocket and stood silent for a moment.

"You surely remember this bothersome incident that happened twenty-six months ago," he said and looked into Mycroft's eyes. "Near the Gulf of Mexico."

Holmes tensed all his muscles in an instant, but he remained calm. "We were not to mix politics and such serious matters into our games," he said when the first shock passed.

Aaron tried to calm him down. "Please, let me finish," he said and turned to face Holmes while keeping a glass of alcohol in his hand. "I have to tell you, I did not expect such a spectacular mishap coming from you, Myc. You could not cope with this small upheaval, although you had so many options. And speaking of many options, I mean help from my country. I know we have actually good relations with Honduras, not like Great Britain. But, instead of sending us a delegation, asking for advice, you preferred to play with fire and call their neighbors for help. "

"How do you have access to this information? You deal with the internal matters of your country and you do not have the right to possess this type of data" Mycroft no longer concealed his irritation.

Aaron tilted his head swishly to the side. He lifted the corner of his mouth because he knew how it affected on Mycroft's nerves, "I have a good relationship with a minister working in this area."

"Hmm. You mean, she-minister," Holmes sighed when everything became clear.

Aaron grinned and continued. "But you are right, we should not talk about such serious matters. In the end you somehow managed to resolve the conflict and sweep the whole matter under the carpet, so that no one suspected anything." He slowly passed Mycroft's chair. He opened the door and stretched out his hand towards the man in the hall. The bodyguard pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to him without a word. "This CD contains all of your orders. All the wrong decisions and mishaps you made during that difficult time." Stoner sat quietly in his chair. He showed the CD wrapped in a blue plastic packaging, then carefully placed it on the table between them.

"By the way. Why didn't your people ask my colleagues for help?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Because your colleagues ..." he spat the word out with obvious contempt and irony, "... are not smart enough to be able to help us then. I was convinced that your intervention would result in more problems than good."

"Ouch!" Aaron did not hide his amusement. "Harsh words, but you are probably right. I doubt we would be able to do something. But that doesn't change the fact that your decision doesn't look good in the papers." Aaron sat down in the armchair. "Let's get back to the matter now. As I said, this CD has everything you would prefer to stay sealed. And I swear it's the only CD I have, so don't worry."

Mycroft said nothing.

"But here ..." Aaron showed him his phone, "... is a photo of John that you have already seen." He put the phone next to the CD on the table.

The room was quiet. None of the men looked down. The tension was interrupted by Mycroft, who had been sitting for a long time with his typical face, i.e. narrowed eyes and something that was supposed to resemble an ironic smile.

"I know where this is going, but I'll let you finish. I bet it's your favorite part." This time he smiled seriously, although that smile had nothing to do with courtesy.

Aaron leaned slightly over the table. "Mycroft, you know I don't mean to destroy you. After all, we both want peace and a world without wars, except for the wars we can control. We are on the side of the good ones," he said and made a move with his fingers. "I don't want to fight with you, just have some fun." At this point, he pointed with his finger at the CD in the blue wrapper. "If I publish the data from this CD, the whole environment will find that you make mistakes too. Funny and incomprehensible mistakes they will point out to you for years. You will have to admit to them, and it will hit your pride, and I will be extremely happy."

"Do you think I'm so proud?" Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

Aaron looked at him ironically. "Myc, if pride could turn into a human figure, yours would embarrass the Statue of Liberty."

Holmes knew he couldn't argue. Aaron wasn't wrong.

"If I publish a photo from my phone," Stoner continued, "our friends will find out that John likes to play both sides. He will have trouble and they will all start to feel sorry for you. They will comfort you, and you hate it as much as admit you make mistakes too". Aaron fell silent and stared at Mycroft. At one point he even felt sorry for him. He sighed and gave him a pleasant smile. "All right, I'll try to comfort you somehow. Relax a little bit, Myc," he said, ignoring Holmes's sharp look. He reached for the phone "I will write to your beautiful assistant that you are with me and your people do not have to worry so much." He wrote a message. When he looked up, Mycroft looked at him curiously. "I have tried to pick her up many times," he said, trying to satisfy his curiosity. "She is a tough one. She was still staring at her phone. Somehow I managed to get her number, but she never answers my flirting attempts."

His phone vibrated. Aaron picked it up and read the message. He chuckled and shook his head slightly. "She wrote 'I understand'. If I knew your name was affecting her that way, I'd have changed my strategy long ago." He straightened up and put the phone back in place. "See, that's one problem less."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. He crossed his legs, sighed deeply and his face calmed down. "Why all these excuses," he said calmly, "We both know that you only care about John. You want to sleep with him, so not beat around the bush."

Aaron was a little confused, but he didn't show it. He smiled in that specific way. "Your chosen one feels very responsible and will not let you lose your respect because of him. Therefore, I will give him an offer. In exchange for my silence and promise to delete the photo, I will offer him a night at my side, and he will agree to that. He is an honorable man. He won't leave you alone with this problem. He will let me... seduce him. "

Mycroft was silent, staring at Aaron with a fierce face and slightly narrowed eyes. "And what if you make the data public? How will it let you... seduce him?" he asked.

"You underestimate me as usual, Mycroft. Yes, it will be harder, but I will get what I want. Besides, the meal is tastier when you wait a little longer. And by the way, an extra reward for me will be your faces when you have to listen to the nagging comments of others about your failures. "

Holmes was calm. He showed no emotion, even his breath showed nothing. He looked at Aaron, who was pleased with himself and he waited for his decision.

"Come on. Decide. Will you choose, the reason ..." he pushed the CD slightly towards him "... or the heart?" did the same with the phone.

Mycroft was silent, but not for long. He slowly got up from the chair and went to the door to take his shoes. He put them on his feet without hurry and returned to the table. He didn't care about the carpet. It was enough for him to look at the floor when he came into the room for the first time and knew that the carpet was as Persian as the musclehead was stupid. When he returned to the table, he raised an empty glass and took his things. His eyes met Stoner. He never took his eyes from him. Even when he took the CD off the table and straightened up.

Aaron was surprised and didn't even try to hide it. He watched Holmes put the blue packaging in the pocket of his blazer and slowly walked toward the door. "I must admit you surprised me," he muttered when Holmes was already at the door.

"I told you many times that sentiment only makes decisions difficult and prevents us from seeing what is obvious to others," Mycroft was in no hurry to leave the room. He put on his cufflinks and fixed his hair in the mirror hanging on the wall.

Aaron also got up from his seat. He approached him slowly and with an empty glass in his hand. "You can expect me in your apartment today, then."

Mycroft looked at him. "You act quickly."

"I prefer to make hay while the sun shines. Besides, I can't wait to see John," he said with a smile.

"I wish you good luck, then." Mycroft left the room and walked down the hall toward the exit, and Stoner wondered why his walk was so calm.

\---

They searched the whole bedroom and even the bathroom but found nothing. No documents, folders or even tiles. Time passed inexorably. They heard a clock ticking on the wall. The awareness of the presence of Stoner's people in the lobby, the passing minutes and the lack of effects made them search more and more desperate and louder with every minute. The lack of normal light also did not make things easier.

John sat down resigned on the spring mattress of the big bed. He watched Sherlock for a moment, who tirelessly searched low furniture on his knees, he also saw Molly rummaging in Stoner's bag. Throughout his stay in the apartment, John managed to notice and deduce a few things about him. Of course, he didn't say it out loud. These were his thoughts. He learned that Aaron's favorite color was green. This was demonstrated by the selection of clothes, handkerchiefs, ties, towels and even a toothbrush. Gucci was a favorite brand. Everything seemed to indicate that he preferred sleeping naked. At last, John also knew the reason why Stoner's skin had always seemed so smooth and flawless to him. On the shelf in the bathroom, on the table in the bedroom and wherever possible, there were bottles with expensive lotions and creams. However, the biggest discovery for him was that Stoner, although perfect on the outside, was a terrible slob.

At the very beginning, when Sherlock lit the small lamp, John thought someone had been in this room before. Papers, clothes and other trinkets were piling around the room. There was a phone charger next to every power plug. There were shoes on the wardrobe. What's more interesting, each from a different pair. Pillows from the bed were falling on the ground, bags were left in the corners. In general, the room looked like a bomb had exploded in it. John wondered if it was worth to mask their presence after all because before and after their intrusion there was no difference. The only obvious evidence of their presence was dirt spread on the floor. Sherlock, who was like in a trance, a few minutes earlier took the flower and pulled it out of the pot, then put it back in its place. John imagined a charwoman's face who would come to clean Stoner's room. 

He looked around again. His attention was caught by a book on the ground, hidden under the bed. "I didn't think he reads Hopkins," he muttered under his breath. However, Sherlock, apparently sensitive to his voice, suddenly stopped moving. He rose from the ground and turned to him with relief and pride on his face.

"John!" he shouted despite the circumstances. "You are incomparable as usual." He came to his friend, grabbed his cheeks and kissed his crown. Later he picked up the book from the floor. He opened the cover quickly, flipped a few pages, and smiled triumphantly. A small hole was cut in the middle of the book. Inside was an elegant silver USB memory stick. "It's so cliché it's almost brilliant," he said. He quickly put it in his pocket and put the book back in its place.

"What is this?" the doctor asked.

"USB memory stick, John".

He would roll his eyes, but he immediately realized that his question was trivial. He was grateful to his friend for sparing him a mocking comment. "I'll ask again. What's on it?"

Sherlock went to the window. "Something that surely has to do with my brother," he said. He nodded gently to let John and Molly join him. "But we have to ask him if we want to know the details." John turned off the lamp, went to the balcony and slowly followed his friend in silence. They were coming back the same way, jumping from balcony to balcony in the dark.

The gondolier was unlucky that night. Each of his rides ended early enough that he could not add an extra fee for each subsequent ten-minute trip. As soon as customers found out what the next minute would cost, they quickly gave up and decided to reach their destination on foot. He was now flowing calmly through a narrow channel. He quietly hoped that he eventually would find a specific customer who decided to take a longer ride. He paddled slowly towards the main harbor. Dark passages put him in a gloomy mood, which is why, he decided to whistle his favorite tune to improve his mood as usual in such situations. He took a deep breath, closed his mouth and was about to blow the first note of the song when something suddenly flickered above his head. He straightened up, raised his eyes and froze in place. A few feet above him, he saw three figures leaping between balconies. One of them had a long dress pulled up almost to the middle of her thighs. He focused all his attention on her. He stopped the gondola, raised the visor of the cap with his finger and leaned on the paddle.

Two men gracefully crossed metal handrails. The last person, a woman in an evening gown, was not doing so well. She had to lean on the shoulders of one of the men. A light wind blew the fabric of her dress. The man in front all the time turned around and checked how the other two were going, although the most of his attention was focused on his companion who was walking right behind him. The sight of these three people was so strange and comical that the gondolier could no longer hold back. He gave a long whistle, which caught their attention. He grinned and when he was about to yell some vulgar joke, another boat hit the back of his gondola. He immediately looked at his colleague and at that moment his Italian temperament possessed him.

"Cazzo!" he shouted at the other gondolier. "Testa di cazzo!".

"Vaffanculo!" the other man did not spare his tongue too.

The quarrel started for good, but neither Sherlock nor John paid any attention to it. They managed to get through the main window into the hall. They helped Molly and quietly headed for the stairs. When they were out of sight of Stoner's people, John stopped and leaned his back against the wall. He looked at Sherlock. They stared at each other for a moment, then John snorted softly and shook his head smiling. At that moment he understood the absurdity of the whole situation. Sherlock also laughed. He giggled noiselessly and rubbed his fingers at the corners of his eyes. Molly, who straightened the creased folds of the dress, looked at them and smiled under her breath. How could three adults cause so much chaos in such a short time? And how did not they feel the consequences of their actions yet? John couldn't understand how he got into this situation and why he liked it so much. When they managed to control their amusement, they went down the stairs.

"What are we doing now?" Molly asked cheerfully. She enjoyed this unusual entertainment.

"There is no point in going back to the party," said John, briskly walking down the stairs.

"There really isn't," Sherlock agreed. "I am reluctant to say this, but it is probably best to wait for Mycroft. Maybe he will kindly enlighten us and tell us what decision he made."

John and Molly didn't know what he was talking about. They looked at each other in silence but decided not to ask. It was late evening but hotel guests enjoyed the nightlife. Maybe it wasn't like the morning hours when people had to squeeze get to the designated place, but the music outside and the buzz of conversations from the hotel bar were proof the night was just beginning for some guests. By the time they reached the door of the apartment of John and Mycroft, they had passed several couples. John recognized some of them and nodded slightly as he passed them.

"I don't have a key," he said suddenly as they stood at the doorstep. He remembered giving it to Mycroft when they went to the party. He sighed and put his hand on the door handle.

"Let's go to my room then" Sherlock suggested without hesitation.

Before John could answer, he felt the apartment door open without any resistance. He frowned and stepped inside. The living room was bright and pleasantly cool, thanks to the air coming in through the open window. Mycroft was sitting on the couch with a laptop in his lap and a glass of water in his hand. John hoped it was water, not something much stronger. When Mycroft saw them, he gazed at each of them. Interestingly, he focused his eyes on John for the longest time. The doctor trembled at this. He noticed that this was happening more often recently.

"Brother, mine. I didn't expect you to give up John's company so soon and walk him to me," he said with undisguised surprise. He watched his brother sit down opposite him.

John expressed dissatisfaction with his words, by a loud sigh and theatrical rolling of his eyes. He was silent, but he took off his suit and vest and hung both things over the back of the couch. "Could the two of you don't do it today?" he asked. He poured some juice from a glass carafe and handed it to Molly.

"I hope at least ..." Mycroft continued, closely observing Sherlock, "that you spent this time in a more useful way than causing more fights in nearby pubs and restaurants," he added with his typical smile. He looked like he was in a good mood. He was looking at his brother from above the laptop.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly, but he didn't seem too surprised. "How do you know we had something to do with this?"

"I figured it out, imagine it," Mycroft teased him. He widened his smile, but his lips were clenched as usual. "Or using your favorite wording - I deduced it."

The younger genius crossed his legs. "Then it's a shame you didn't make more effort and you didn't deduce where I took my friend," he leaned the back of the head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. "As I see, being around John makes you lazy."

"Can you stop talking about me as if I were a thing and someone's property?" John cut in. He wasn't angry. He was used to the fact that he was the reason for the quarrels of both brothers. He quietly walked around the sofa and joined Sherlock. It took him a moment to notice or rather fell Mycroft's intense gaze. He looked up and it turned out he was right. Genius kept his eyes on him. It was not a reprimand or a dominant look. John noticed a flash of concern and kindness in Mycroft's eyes that didn't suit him to the point that John immediately looked away. He blinked and focused on the pile of documents lying on the table.

"I think I will go to my room now." Molly's shy and soft voice spread across the living room. She stood near the door and watched the awkward exchange of glances.

"Please, don't worry, Miss Hooper and stay with us. We're expecting a guest anyway."

Mycroft's words made Sherlock open his eyes. He looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow. "Oh?" he said with interest. "And who is it, if I can ask?"

"Aaron will come to visit us, John. But this visit will not take him long." Mycroft ignored him and turned to the doctor. He closed the laptop, put it on the table, then returned to the previous position.

"I thought you talked to him about an hour ago" Sherlock no longer hid his curiosity.

"I did" Mycroft finally looked at his brother. "However, he insisted and announced that he would visit us today."

It was a bit disturbing. Sherlock thought Mycroft had managed to deal with Stoner, who felt the taste of defeat, realized that he had lost and will leave John alone. That he would abandon all the plans he had about him. However, his announced visit and Mycroft's nonchalant tone confused him. He tried to read some details from his brother's face. Anything that would help him predict the outcome and the effects of their confrontation. "Mycroft, you didn't get along with him, did you?" he asked with hidden concern.

"What do you mean?".

Suddenly Molly jumped, scared by a quick knock on the door. Everyone looked at her. Perhaps in other circumstances, she would feel happy because of the sudden increase in interest in her. Maybe she would even blush and drop her eyes in embarrassment, but she realized almost immediately that she was not the center of their interest but the person behind the doors. She was standing closest to them, so with a wave of her hand, she stopped John, who was already getting ready to stand up. Without thinking much, she smoothed the yellow dress and pulled the door handle. Before she saw who was behind the door, she smelled the pleasant scent of a flower. She sighed with dissatisfaction when she saw Aaron.

He stood nonchalantly, leaning against the door frame. As usual, he had a perfect hairstyle, shiny eyes, and a beautiful smile. A gray three-piece suit and a gold tie woven with green thread made him look just astonishing. He was holding a single red rose, which he rotated between his fingers. He was surprised to see Molly. The surprise lasted a split second because a moment later he grinned and winked seductively at her.

"Good evening, Molly," he said, using an extremely soft voice.

The girl was either too angry or too enchanted because she let him in without a word.

Aaron's gaze passed over the sitting men and he stopped at John. "I'm glad we're all here, although I came here only for one particular person," he said without embarrassment. He was too focused on John to notice Sherlock, who was starting to eat his own teeth, or the sharp eyes of Mycroft, who was staring at him from his seat. He realized that nobody would offer him to sit in a chair. He didn't blame them, because he knew the feelings his presence caused. Without embarrassment, he pulled one of the chairs up and put it right next to the couch. He sat up and brushed his knee against John's leg. A hard leg that he felt like ripping off the pant leg and caressing John's skin with his fingers. He didn't even have to say his desires out loud. His eyes betrayed his lust and motives. His black pupils made John shiver.

No one commented. Sherlock finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Molly, I think it will be better if you go to your room. Someone's teeth will start to fall on the floor in a moment," he growled in a low voice. He didn't like the way Aaron looked at John. Although he was never prone to violence, he felt itching in his fingers.

"Stop this show and enlighten us why you honored us with your visit," Mycroft disrupted his thoughts.

Aaron forced himself to look away from John. "You haven't talked to him yet?" he turned to Mycroft.

"About what?" John asked. He looked at Aaron and Mycroft.

Aaron smirked and changed the subject nonchalantly. "I was in a hurry because I wanted to join you earlier, but I went to a 24-hour flower shop." He sighed, sniffed the rose again and laid it gently on the table. "Before we come to reveal the reason why I'm here ..." he said and looked at Mycroft with admiration "... I have to congratulate you. Your people are amazing. I knew they were fast but I didn't think this fast. By the time I got back from the florist's, they had searched my whole apartment. "

"I haven't sent anyone to you yet," he said and looked at surprised Aaron.

"Then who ..." he asked and paused when Sherlock cut in halfway through the sentence.

"It was me."

Aaron gave Mycroft a meaningful look. "I told you to persuade your brother to join your group. He's better than many of perfectly trained agent." He ignored Holmes's face and turned directly to Sherlock, but before that, he gave John a meaningful glance once again. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked.

"Yes". Sherlock pulled a silver USB memory stick out of his pocket. He put it on the table with a happy face.

Aaron sighed. "Don't look at me like that, Myc. I said I didn't have a copy of the CD, but I didn't say a word about another data carrier. Anyway, you were going to send your people to search my room. They would find it anyway" he nodded at the small silver object. "I wouldn't blame you. In the end, the initiative is still on my side."

"Can anyone kindly explain to me what this is all about?" John asked with irritation.

"Mr. Stoner seems to be here because of you. He'll be happy to answer all your questions." Mycroft remained steady. He looked at them and prayed that Sherlock would not throw himself at the intruder with his fists, because he looked as if he could do it at any time.

Aaron sighed. "See, John," he said, shifted in his chair and stared at him. "Your ..." he hesitated deliberately to add some drama "... husband after a short conversation came to a consensus with me. He could choose between letting others mock him or you. I'm sorry to say, but from my presence here, I think you guess what option he chose. In exchange for his good name, he agreed to put you in my hands. At least for tonight. Of course, I'm not going to use violence ... but you understand what I want to say, "he said with concern.

John looked at Mycroft. His stomach tightened and he felt sick. A lot of extreme emotions must have dominated his eyes because the older genius could barely hold his gaze. John got up from the couch. He stood in a defensive position, i.e. arms crossed, and narrowed his eyes. "And how do you want to prove to me that I have no other choice?" John asked with hoarseness in his voice.

Aaron gave him a captivating smile. He joined him, came closer at a very uncomfortable distance, which forced Sherlock to quickly get up from the sofa. John was unmoved, frowning even more. He could feel the presence of a friend behind his back. Aaron blinked slowly. He focused his eyes on John's mouth, then licked his lower lip with a barely noticeable movement. "I love when my potential partner is so inaccessible."

"Mr. Stoner. I would advise you to take your sick dreams and return to your apartment if you still have the opportunity to do so," Sherlock muttered ominously over his friend's shoulder.

"I can handle it myself," John interrupted him in a not very pleasant voice. His anger was not directed at his friend, but at a man who had made his life miserable for two last weeks. He was not fooled by the charming smiles, beautiful eyes and impeccable manners of Stoner. "Well, I'm listening. What would force me to accept your decisions?" All the pain after Mycroft's betrayal had passed. Now he wanted a confrontation.

"You are angry with him now. I understand that. But maybe you will let your noble character act and you will help him save his face in this situation? You see, the photo I have can harm not only you" at this moment he reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out his phone. He grabbed it with two fingers and waved it gently.

"What photo?" John asked.

"The one where you make out with your husband's brother in an unambiguous way." His soft voice made John more nervous than the way he pretended to be concerned. "I gained it not without someone's help," he added and gave Molly a meaningful look. The girl looked away.

"I will repeat John's question," Mycroft's voice caught their attention. "What photo?" he asked with something like a smile on his face.

Aaron sighed softly. He took the phone and unlocked it without hurry. "I am sorry, John. I wanted to spare you this, but I see Mycroft likes to make you ..." his voice got stuck in his throat. He blinked several times and quickly moved his thumb across the phone screen. Suddenly everything started to disappear. Data, files, phone numbers and messages. Each folder he opened immediately became empty. There was not a single photo. He had no idea what had happened when he suddenly realized how easily he was fooled by Mycroft. He lowered his hand in resignation, tilted his head back, sighed and covered his eyes with his free hand. "Dear god. How could I be so easily fooled?" he muttered, feeling completely defeated. He couldn't look at Mycroft's triumphant face. "It's your assistant doing, am I right?" he asked.

Mycroft nodded but didn't look overly pleased with himself. He did not smile meanly or give him nagging glances. He sat calm and composed. This attitude irritated Stoner even more. He hated losing, especially with someone who showed that the game was not worth the planning and effort. Aaron sighed again. "You should give her a promotion."

"Wait, what exactly happened here?" John did not hide his confusion.

"You can forget everything that Mr. Stoner told you," Mycroft said. He breathed a sigh of relief for the first time since he returned to the apartment. He reached for a pack of cigarettes, hidden between the backrest and seat of the sofa. He pulled out one cigarette and lit it. "He is leaving anyhow". He fixed his eyes on Aaron.

John did not give up. "And what? That's all? So much trouble for nothing? In that case, why didn't you let him know immediately that the game was over?" he asked looking at Mycroft.

"Because victory would not taste the same as it does now." Sherlock interrupted the discussion.

"If quick win were the most important thing," Aaron said, "it would be enough to take the phone, delete a photo, and throw the CD into the canal under the window."

"And what would be wrong with doing that?" John did not give up. He kind of understood the way geniuses worked. He knew that style was more important than victory. Especially when the game was between people with similar intelligence.

"John... gentlemen are not trying to take the things they are fighting for by using force. Such behavior is not fitting for people in our positions," Mycroft enjoyed the taste of the cigarette but listened carefully to the discussion. "Not to mention that arm wrestling looks and is childish. Can you imagine any of us in such a situation?" he asked ironically.

Several times John has witnessed the grown-up and serious brothers Holmes fighting over something. And yes, every time it was a strange and funny sight. The dignified Mycroft was turning into a small possessive boy and the proud Sherlock into a jealous kid who tried to appropriate his brother's toy. With this hilarious vision of quarrelsome geniuses, he turned to Aaron. "Unfortunately, I am not a gentleman. I am a military doctor. Violence and strength solutions suit me more," he said with an unpleasant smile, reached out quickly and grabbed Stoner's penis.

Aaron bent in half, opened his eyes in shock and pain, but didn't make the slightest sound.

"Did you know the penis has no bones and can still be easily broken?" he asked. "It's enough to grab it like that" with these words he twisted his hand slightly, "and bend it like a baguette. This can result in constant impotence and even death in some cases." John's fingers tightened. He could feel the pulsing under his fingers. Usually, it was enough for him to see the terrified eyes of his victim, but this time he really wanted to do more than just scare him. It took him a moment when the attack of anger passed and when he felt Sherlock's breath next to him, he released Stoner.

Aaron stood bent with his hands pressed to his sensitive place. His eyes were clenched, so he wasn't expecting John's hard fist that landed straight on his nose. He guessed he would get something from John Watson, but he did not think it would be a hit addressed straight between the eyes. He quickly put his fingers in the place of impact. He felt tears flowing uncontrollably into his eyes. He knew he should leave the room long ago. He was defeated, beaten and humiliated. His personality, however, did not allow him to show anger or rude behavior. He sniffed, straightened as much as he could in the current situation, then gently bowed and finally winked at John with a smile. "Until next time," he muttered cheerfully. He slowly gathered his things and left the apartment.

They were silent. John could hear the sound of his blood running in his head. He felt a burning sensation on his fingers. He had not used his strength for a long time, and now he was afraid that maybe he was exaggerating a little. At that moment he was so angry, so blinded by the desire to put Stoner in his place that he couldn't control himself and hit him with all the power he had. Strangely enough, the man stayed on his feet. What's more, he smiled and left the room on his own. John was about to shake his head in disbelief, but he didn't. When they were alone, he sat down slowly on the sofa without a word. He wanted to be alone for a while. He wanted to disappear and think about what had happened. He put his elbow on the backrest and covered his eyes with his fingers. The seat next to him buckled under someone's weight. He knew it was Sherlock. After a long, protracted moment that seemed like an eternity, he finally looked up. He immediately looked at Mycroft, who was sitting opposite him. He was finishing smoking his cigarette. His thoughts must have gone far because he sat staring at nothing. He probably felt he was being watched because he finally looked at John.

"I know your passion for drama," Sherlock said, sitting comfortably on the sofa, "but this time you could have skipped this show."

"My passion for drama?" he asked with slight disbelief. "Sherlock ..." he said, but gave up the discussion. He knew the conversation made no sense. An attempt to prove which of them liked the dramatic scenes and behavior more was not the goal at the moment. "It's getting late". He looked meaningful at his elegant pocket watch. Sherlock didn't seem to get the suggestion, or more likely pretended he didn't. He looked at his brother intensely.

"That's true," said Molly, who was silent until now. "We should get going to our apartment". She tried to signal Sherlock that they should leave his brother and John alone. She nodded at the doors. She came up to them and put her hand on the door handle. "Sherlock, we should go now," she said softly. Maybe she should be more firm, but she still felt the tension and heavy atmosphere in the room.

"Then, good night, Molly," the younger genius had no intention of following her.

"Sherlock," Mycroft muttered warningly, looking back, "John and I need to talk ..." he said quietly "... alone".

Younger Holmes turned his head away, completely ignoring his brother. He looked at John, who, contrary to his suppositions, nodded that he agreed with Mycroft. "Can't you do it now?"

"No, brother. Could you leave us alone?" he asked in a softer voice. "I promise I won't do anything inappropriate anymore," he added as if he were sure that only such assurance would calm his brother.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth. It was obvious that in a moment he would say something nagging. "You told our mom the same thing after she didn't knock on your door that day." If he could, he would hear John's quiet and cheerful chuckle. Unfortunately, his attention was distracted by Molly, who appeared next to him, and pulled him by the arm. Strangely, he did not protest, he did not pull away. He walked with her to the door, but he looked at his brother all the time.

Mycroft looked at him ominously. He looked like he could smell a bad smell in the air. Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the soft slam of the closing door. He indeed wanted to be alone with John. He was convinced that he would have to have a short conversation, for which he had prepared since leaving the Savoia & Jolanda Hotel. The most difficult moment in such situations was the start of the discussion. Choosing the right words or even gestures. The task was not made easy for him by John, who did not look eager to take the initiative. What's more, he looked like someone who didn't feel like talking at all. Mycroft decided on a safer option and finally started the conversation. "Are you hungry?" he asked and caught John's attention. He looked into his dark blue eyes and continued, "I can order something."

John sighed softly. "No thank you, Mycroft. I think I'll go to bed." He got up from the couch. "It was an intense day."

"We won't have a conversation?" he asked with actual surprise. He also got up from his seat. He put a packet of cigarettes and a lighter on the table, and crushed the cigarette butt on a blue packaging of CD.

John managed to get closer to the bedroom door. He stopped next to the mahogany cabinet, turned away and narrowed his eyes. "Do we have to?"

Mycroft walked slowly toward him. He put one hand in his trouser pocket and the other hand rubbed his neck. "Of course not. Although it seemed unavoidable." It was really quiet in the apartment. For some reason, they didn't even hear the noise from outside the hotel. The only thing they heard was the rustling of Mycroft's clothes that entered the bedroom. "I thought you were going to be angry," he added, standing right in front of John. He was visibly tired. John could smell the expensive perfumes, whiskey and cigarette smoke on his clothes.

"I'm not angry," John said when he saw and felt all these things. The bedroom was dark, but not completely dark. The faint light coming through the open window made it possible to see the contours and even some colors on the carpet or furniture. John knew Mycroft was close. Really close. If he wanted, he could grab him by the tie and pull him closer. He did not do it. "Actually, I wanted to apologize to you," he added.

"Apologize?" Mycroft's voice was soft.

"Yes. Because it's my fault. I should be more careful."

"Don't bother with it, John. Aaron has been planning it for a long time. Unfortunately, you caught his eye and he wanted to kill two birds with one stone." He fell silent, but John knew he didn't take his eyes off him. "Greed is not worth the effort. Mostly."

Conversations outside the hotel, music, tapping plates. All these noises reached the hotel floor, where the two men stood in the dark bedroom facing each other. John was confused. He wanted to disappear and stay in one place. He wanted to touch Mycroft, and on the other hand, he desired Sherlock's company. He missed the warmth of another man, though he did not know which and why. Has he changed that much in these two weeks? What made him can't stop thinking about the loneliness that awaited him in London? And why was he so afraid of answers?

"I can't hear you talking," Sherlock's voice came from the balcony next to their bedroom. "I'll call mom".

Mycroft sighed loudly. John could have bet all the money in the world that Holmes rolled his eyes at the same time. The older genius came closer to the tall window in the bedroom. "Go to sleep, Sherlock," he said in his usual voice and closed the window. "You'd better get some sleep too, John," he said, passing him on the way to the bathroom. "It was a long day" with these words he disappeared behind the door.

John didn't wait. He walked over to the window with a smile, opened it and went out onto the balcony. His friend was standing on the neighboring terrace. As usual, he leaned against the balustrade and smoked lazily a cigarette. They stood in silence for a moment. They watched boats and gondolas floating in the distance, rented by lovers in love and incredibly rich couples. John knew that if he wanted to afford a quiet and slow gondola ride at this time of night, he would have to raise money all month. "I hope you've finished your experiments with me," he said, staring straight ahead. "Your behavior annoyed me this morning." He didn't hear the answer. "Have you at least achieved your goal?" he asked.

This time, Sherlock gave him a smile. "It will turn out in the upcoming days," he muttered.

They stood like that for a few more minutes. John yawned and turned to the room. "Night, Sherlock. Try not to get even weirder by the morning."

"Good night, John."

He didn't close the window. The sound of pouring water was coming from the bathroom. The calming sound made him throw off elegant clothes and quickly changed into something more comfortable. He sank on the bed and immediately closed his eyes. The penultimate night at the hotel, the penultimate night at Mycroft's side. He would give a lot for taking this moment with him to London. He knew that when will he return to London, after each awakening in his bed, he would remember these unreal moments with a sentiment. This opportunity happened only once in his life and he was glad that he agreed to Mycroft's offer, although it seemed ridiculous and absurd at the time. He was thoughtful to the point that he didn't even notice when Mycroft got out of the bathroom and lay down next to him. He realized only when he felt the pleasant smell of soap. They both lay on their backs with their eyes closed, their hands very close together. Close enough that they brushed the tips of their pinkies. John made the first move. With a gentle and slow movement, he slid his fingers under Mycroft's hand. He had no idea whether he was doing right or wrong, but at the moment nothing could destroy or improve their relationship. He waited less than a few seconds for Holmes' reply. Mycroft took his hand without a word and squeezed it, and they stayed in that position all night. Before falling asleep, John listened to the calm melody played by the young musician on the mandolin outside the hotel. He knew it from some movie, but he couldn't remember the title. The music was playing, the wind cooled his tired body, the mattress wrapped him in softness, and Mycroft's calm breath put him to sleep with every moment. He knew he would remember that night forever. A beautiful night in magical Venice.


	20. Chapter 20

It was obvious that the dream was better after a stressful day, which despite the adversities ended successfully. Disappearing stress caused the body to relax, and calm thoughts helped maintain healthy sleep. That is why John was not surprised when he opened his eyes refreshed and relaxed. He did not even realize that his restful sleep lasted until late morning. He was sleepy and blinked several times. He stretched lazily on the bed and sighed. A pleasant chill surrounded his body as he threw the sheets aside. Mycroft was no longer next to him, but the barely noticeable warmth on the sheet indicated that he had to get up recently. The bathroom light flashed from beneath the crack. The door was slightly closed. He heard the strange noises of an electric razor and knew that Mycroft was getting ready to leave. He sat on the bed, warm air blowing over his face. When he opened his eyes, he saw an armchair standing in the corner, and clothes folded on it that he had thrown off the night before. The sight gave him a slight smile. He realized how much Sherlock differed from Mycroft in order and cleanliness. He liked both versions, although both were annoying sometimes.

The buzz of conversations outside the hotel woke him up completely. He had to admit he was getting used to it. He didn't want to think about his dark room on Baker Street for now. He had never complained about the places he lived in before. After all, as a former soldier, he often slept in hollows in the dusty deserts of Afghanistan, or between sharp rocks nearby patrolled villages. But now he realized the great divide between his ordinary life and life with Mycroft and people like him. Although perhaps the ordinary word was not adequate, because life with Sherlock could never be classified as such. He got up from the bed. He stood still for a moment, stretching and staring at the shining water outside the window. He was hungry, so he went towards the living room.

"John" Mycroft's voice came from the bathroom. He opened the door slightly.

John stopped. He looked at Mycroft. He stood, as usual, in elegant pants, a shirt, and a vest. A white towel was hung around his neck and he was holding an electric razor on his face. He learned, he should only use this kind of shaver when he was near John. Using an ordinary hand razor ended up cutting his skin too often.

He looked at John closely. "It's good you're awake." He put the razor next to his skin. John wondered why, since his face seemed hairless and smooth enough. "Francesca called me. She wanted to know if we remember about dinner."

John crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. He nodded slightly.

"Do you have any plans for the afternoon?" Mycroft looked at his reflection in the mirror from a very short distance. A small drop of water ran down his cheek, which John followed closely.

"Not yet. Maybe we'll go somewhere with Molly and Sherlock." The drop he was watching was soaked in a white towel around Mycroft's neck. John was only now focusing on other parts of his face. "Unless he starts behaving strangely again."

Holmes sighed. "My brother will never stop behaving strangely. At least by your standards." He wiped his face with a towel and put the razor down in an elegant men's washbag that John had never seen before. It was brown with a golden zipper in the middle. Mycroft's long fingers fit in perfectly. "I mentioned Francesca because she called me a moment ago and offered to change the meeting time for the afternoon."

"Seeing your face I assume, you don't feel like going to this meeting." John was a little surprised by Mycroft's face. He hadn't made a grimace like that when he talked about Francesca. "I thought you liked her."

"I do. Her company is not as annoying as the presence of others. Which does not mean that I jump with joy at the thought of such meetings ... Besides, I know what it will look like," he muttered under his breath. He reached out for a round navy blue container. "So if you're busy, I'll let her know ..."

"I'd love to go to this meeting with you," John interrupted him immediately. He felt stupid that the previous evening had ended this way, though for some reason he knew that Mycroft didn't blame him. Maybe he was even happy with this turn of events because he missed the compulsory presence at a party full of people.

Mycroft fell silent, but not for long. "Then we'll meet later." He picked up the bottle, but before he pressed the button, he gave John a brief look again. "If this is not too much of a problem for you, take your phone with you this time," he said in a strange tone. Something between irony and amusement. He sprayed the perfume, but a few drops reached John. A delicate smell spread throughout the bathroom. Carnation and incense. It was so pleasant that John closed his eyes, inhaling and remembering the aroma. Mycroft looked and stared at him without saying a word. "Take a bath before you go down for breakfast."

"What happened to your gallantry?" John narrowed his eyes slightly. He wasn't offended, he rather pretended to be.

Mycroft has already put all things away and turned to face him. "I wasn't going to offend you," he said. "The point is, Sherlock doesn't like the smell. He'll hate it on you."

John smiled. "Is it worth asking where you are going?"

Mycroft bypassed him carefully so as not to accidentally touch or push him. John wondered if it was a gesture consequent of his usual gentleman attitude or if he especially avoided to touch him. Mycroft was very reserved when he had to touch someone. Of course, he didn't hesitate when he had to shake hands with someone. It was, however, a line he did not cross. By the time. In situations where he was alone with him, he sometimes lost control of his actions. John was the last to flatter himself, but he liked the awareness that he was the person who caused such reactions in Mycroft.

"I didn't have time to talk to someone at the party yesterday," he said from behind the open wardrobe. He was choosing a tie. "I think you remember why." His face with a small smile appeared from behind the wardrobe. He grew serious immediately when he saw John undressing. "What are you doing?".

John looked slightly confused. "I'm taking a shower?" he asked instead of answering. "You made me understand that it would be better if I did not smell like you. Besides, Sherlock could misunderstand something and call your mom. You wouldn't want that, would you?". Maybe Mycroft answered, but John didn't hear him anymore. He entered the bathroom with a smile and started to wonder how he would spend his last day in Venice. What's more, his last day as Mycroft's husband.

\---

Breakfast was very tasty as usual. Crunchy bread, fresh fruit, and thinly sliced cured meat satisfied his hunger, increasing from the previous night, which he decided to ignore then. He thought with regret that it was his last breakfast at this place. He doubted if he would have the opportunity to participate in this type of show again. This trip was a one-time contract with Mycroft. John suddenly thought that if Mycroft had offered him a similar offer in the future, he would have agreed to it without hesitation, and not because of the comforts he could expect being Mycroft's partner. He realized that he liked his company, and the necessity of playing the role of a husband was not as tiring or unpleasant as he thought at first.

He was rested and full of energy. The living room he was sitting in was empty. Not empty in the typical sense of the word. The excess of decorated, but tasteful furniture, rugs, paintings and other things was overwhelming. However, it lacked people. John was used to the constant presence of others, so when he left the bathroom and saw that Mycroft had already left the apartment, he suddenly felt lonely. He was alone in the large living room. He had a few hours before he would have dinner with Francesca and her husband, and because it was his last day in Venice, he decided to spend it most actively. He put on his vest, though he knew he would regret it soon, because the day was going to be hot and muggy, and he left the apartment, closing the door behind him. He heard the noise of conversations from the rest of the hotel. He came to the next apartment. He knocked twice, immediately jumping back when he heard quick footsteps coming from inside the living room, a muffled crash, like a fallen chair, and Molly's surprised voice trying to reprimand Sherlock. The door opened quickly.

"Finally," Sherlock smiled with genuine pleasure.

"Have you been waiting for me?" John was slightly amused at the sight of his friend and his curly hair. "You could come or write to me," he said and looked at Molly, who came up to them, "or shout over the balcony."

Molly stood behind Sherlock, wiping the rest of the sweet croissant with her fingers that she ate for breakfast. "He didn't want to look desperate," she said softly.

Sherlock gave her an annoyed look. "Tea, John?"

"Yes, please".

The three of them headed to the large hall that decorated the ground floor of the hotel. The creamy marble staircase with red carpet and the lack of even the smallest dirt continued to impress John. He liked every inch of the building, as did the hall where guests could relax and immerse themselves in their thoughts, with the choice of every existing and of course unimaginably expensive coffee in the world. They took a seat opposite the porter's lodge. Almost immediately, a dark-eyed waitress in a white shirt and black hair found her way to their table. She was young but experienced, Sherlock noted. Her enthusiasm and care, as she wrote orders, said a lot about her character and the work she had dreamed of since she was a child. She was the perfect example that waiters' attitudes toward customers influenced their orders because both John and Molly had asked for things they wouldn't normally eat. All because of the waitress's friendly smile, her nice voice, and gentle character.

"They have so many tasty things here that it's hard to decide on one specific," Molly rubbed her hands under the counter. She looked around, admiring people sitting at other tables. Especially one woman in a navy blue dress, with a pearl necklace around her neck, which she played between her fingers, completely ignoring her interlocutor. "I wish you would let the waitress continue" she looked at Sherlock "and you gave up coffee right away. I thought you would need it."

John turned to her. "Needed? Is his blood pressure too low?" he asked, looking at his friend with slight concern.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I mean, last night he stood on the balcony for a long time and listened to the sounds coming from your bedroom. I thought he would be more sleepy today."

John gave her a big smile. "Don't worry about it. Sherlock is either sleeping until noon or not sleeping at all. It's normal for him."

"Exactly," the genius finally said. "And I don't know where the idea was that I listened to the sounds. I was deep in my thoughts, which I do quite often" he looked at them meaningful "and I don't need a dose of energy in the form of sleep or coffee to do it." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Besides, I prefer tea. John too. Recently."

The doctor frowned in surprise. He replied only when the waitress put the ordered drinks and two additional cookies in front of them and left them alone with a smile and a small bow. "I always preferred tea."

Sherlock smiled with his eyes still closed. "But it wasn't always your first choice."

"I happen to drink coffee when I am among people, just because others drink it too. Sometimes it is appropriate to do so," he added, still completely confused by such a strange conversation. His answer caused an even bigger smile on his friend's face.

Molly, who had sat in silence so far, listened to this strange discussion. She looked at Sherlock and John and sipped her hot coffee from a small cup. When they fell silent, she decided to ask if her suppositions were correct. "Coffee and tea ..." she said uncertainly, "Is this some code or a metaphor?"

Sherlock gave her a meaningful look, while John's face still showed complete confusion. He absolutely did not understand the friend's satisfaction or the slight sadness and amazement in Molly's eyes, who was looking at the cookie lying in front of her. The three silently enjoyed the small and definitely too expensive portion of the drink. Two teas and one coffee disappeared from the cups very quickly.

At one point, hotel employees started running up and down the stairs. Three of them carried elegant bags made of expensive leather. They were green, so John immediately knew who they belonged to. The fourth hotel employee carried nothing. He was standing in the service room and explaining something to the cleaners sitting there. Only Sherlock knew what they were talking about. But it was not difficult to guess. Stoner's room required general cleaning and the bed disinfected. Aaron followed the employees. He passed them but didn't see John, Sherlock or Molly because he was holding an ice pack to his eye. As usual, his clothes were impeccable, and his indisposition was only revealed by a large red-purple bruise surrounding his left eye, the root of the nose and a piece of skin under his right eye socket. His face was swollen, but that didn't stop him from smiling. He walked calmly to the porter, who was really worried when he saw him. He gave him the key and leaned sideways against the counter, apparently waiting for some documents. He grimaced for a moment as he turned the ice pack over.

It was only then that John saw that the left side of Stoner's face was not only purple, but his eye was completely bloodshot. For a split second, he felt bad about it. Only for a split second, because a moment later he remembered why he had hit him. He pursed his lips and his eyes finally met Aaron's. Stoner smiled even wider when he saw John and the other two. As the porter handed him the last documents, he winked at the doctor. He grimaced in pain because he did it with his left, most damaged eye. He didn't care. He repeated the move more cautiously, took the documents from the counter, bowed deeply and proudly walked out of the hotel.

"What a jerk," Molly snapped. "When he stood and watched, I felt like coming and punching his other eye."

"Not only you," John agreed with her, nodding slightly. His hand was still itching from impact. He moved his fingers, remembering the previous night. When he looked up from his hand, he saw that his friend was watching him intensely.

Molly sighed with irritation in her voice. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault," she said. "I let him take advantage of me and he wrapped me around his finger." She was angry with herself. So many times she promised herself that she would never let anyone manipulate her again, and yet she always succumbed to dominant eyes and beautiful words.

"You need to find a normal partner, Molly," Sherlock said casually as he took a small porcelain cup in his hand.

"Sherlock!" John did not hide his anger with his directness.

"No. He's right," she interrupted. "It's time to stop walking around with my head in the clouds and stop chasing after men who see me as a means to a goal and who don't care about me." She looked shyly at Sherlock. Her eyesight was significant for her because she probably finally realized that there was no point in lying to herself and living her dreams. She looked away before any of the other two men had a chance to notice anything. John and Sherlock stared at each other in silence. "But where will I find such a man?"

"Molly, don't you really see there is someone who cares about you for many years already?" asked John.

The girl narrowed her eyes. "Who are you talking about?"

John smiled. "Greg," he finally said, and Molly's eyes widened. It was obvious to everyone except her that she caught his eye from the first moment. Gregory tried to make casual conversations with her, asked about her and showed interest in general. John sometimes felt sorry for seeing that his efforts had no effect.

"Who?" Sherlock asked sincerely surprised.

"Lestrade" John repeated after a sigh.

"Gregory?" Molly was surprised. She blushed slightly, as she used to do when someone showed her more interest not necessarily related to work. "But he has a wife."

Sherlock immediately frowned and murmured doubtfully what caught their attention. "Not for long. He may have got over PE teacher, but I doubt it will be the same with her dance partner."

There was silence. Molly sat embarrassed and flushed at the revelations. John shook his head quietly in disbelief and admiration for his friend. Sherlock finished his tea with his typical nonchalance. People started to arrive in the lobby, and the pleasant chill disappeared. Conversations, the intensity of which was unbearable, now turned into a buzz of people coming from all the rooms and floors. A couple came into the hotel, followed by someone from the staff, carrying large bags in their hands. A young mother led a crying child who kept sobbing, even in the presence of the always smiling porter trying to calm him down. It was getting crowded, and John felt that if he wanted to remember his last day in Venice, he had to start doing it from now on.

"How about walking around the city?" he suggested. "And you could buy Greg some little thing. He'll be happy."

Of course, they agreed. Even Sherlock seemed pleased. He was walking next to John with a smile, and when they left the hotel and headed to the most touristic part of the city, a place where souvenirs could be found on every corner, he was staying right next to him. Not a step forward or backward. He was walking next to him, shoulder to shoulder. It was the hottest time of the day. The sun was shining in all its splendor as if pushing away the bravest clouds that were just trying to approach it. People passed each other on narrow streets, rubbing against and sometimes pushing each other. It was less crowded only on the water, where individual gondolas transported the lucky ones. John, Sherlock, and Molly wandered lazily through shops, squares, and streets. They passed bridges hanging over the water and filled with tourists equipped with cameras, but most often with phones. Someone was taking an amateur session, others were posing for professional photos. There was even a young couple who got married in a nearby church and chose a crowded alley with a view of Saint Mark's Square for the album's photos.

Time would pass extremely pleasantly, if not for the strange feeling that had overtaken John sometime after leaving the hotel. He struggled with it until he could not bear it and shared his feelings with his friend.

"I have a strange impression that someone is watching us" he turned his head to look back.

"Your premonitions are correct as usual," Sherlock gave him a warm smile. They walked on, did not stop or look back.

"Are they Stoner's people?" he asked.

"No. They're not Stoner or Mycroft's people. Someone's just caught someone's eye."

John frowned. He didn't like the sound of Sherlock's voice. It was calm but a bit dark. For some time they did not show that they knew about the person following them. They walked quietly down the streets, past crowded cafes. To John's surprise, the sun was hidden behind low clouds, which allowed them to rest a little from the heat. Although he knew that it would not last long, because the clouds looked temporary, which, however, did not disturb his good mood. He got used to the heat as he used to do in Afghanistan. They managed to hide behind tall buildings just as the sun found a hole in a thick layer of clouds. They immediately came across a crowd of people. They came ashore from boats, motorboats, and gondolas. The others stood in line to catch the opportunity and get to the other side of the main canal. John, Sherlock, and Molly stood in the middle of the city, near one of the most recognizable attractions - the Rialto Bridge. The bridge was surrounded on each side by tourists who photographed it. Some stood on the shore, others took advantage of the fact that they were on the water and had the opportunity to see the bridge from a different perspective. The marina was full of shops, souvenir stands, and narrow eateries, where even a simple bottle of drink cost four times as much as in a normal store. Molly recognized this place as a paradise of souvenirs, which is why she informed Sherlock and John that she was going to spend a long time in this area to find the right gift.

Meanwhile, John still felt someone's gaze. He was walking with a friend among the crowd, but it did nothing. Sherlock probably forgot about the stalker or was accustomed to thinking that they would not get rid of him or her until they returned to the hotel. So John decided not to worry about that either. He walked slowly across the crowded square when he suddenly spotted a small flower shop standing by the main pedestrian street. He thought that a small bouquet would be a good gift for Francesca and a nice gesture for her help and care. He didn't even have to persuade Sherlock to accompany him. They left Molly at one of the souvenir stalls, - which turned out to be a good idea because the saleswoman was from Wales and was very helpful - and went towards the flower shop.

"Which do you think are the most suitable?" John asked. He looked at exposed bouquets, single flowers in tall vases and smaller ones on the counter.

"I know nothing about it, John. But I believe you will please Francesca no matter what you choose." Sherlock was right behind him. He casually looked around the small shop. He felt the pleasant coolness of the air conditioning and the sweet smell of flowers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a short teenager, certainly the daughter of the owner, who was arranging bouquets in the backroom.

"I guess I'll buy these," John pointed at some flowers.

"Daisies?" Sherlock asked.

"Ah, so you do know something about flowers." He turned to his friend and smiled.

"No. I don't," Sherlock said. "I just thought you would choose something more classic and more boring. Like roses or tulips."

The saleswoman was already starting to arrange a bouquet of white daisies from the amount John showed her on his fingers. "I could take roses," he said, not looking away from the woman's slick hand. "But I like them better." He heard the soft murmur of a friend who was standing behind him. He saw him talk for a moment with the girl who had left the back room.

"I'll wait outside, John." Sherlock quietly left the flower shop.

John followed him with his eyes. It took several minutes for his bouquet to be ready. He paid and joined a friend who patiently waited for him at the door. "We can go".

Sherlock gave him a searching look. "So you gave up flowers? Where's your bouquet?"

"I left it in the store. There is no point in carrying it in such heat. I will take it when we return to the hotel this way."

Sherlock nodded understandingly. He followed his friend, who was still looking around. "There," he signed at someone in the crowd.

"What does this person want?" John no longer concealed a slight irritation.

"I told you before. This person is attracted to someone." He couldn't figure out how John looked at him. Something between anger and jealousy, but wrapped in fake indifference. "Let's go this way" he proposed after a long moment, which he devoted to studying the face of his friend. John frowned, but went with him to one of the most famous bridges in Venice. On the Rialto Bridge, i.e. the lovers' bridge. He had a plan on how to kill two birds with one stone. He could show John how much he cares about him and at the same time get rid of the obtrusive stalker.

There were more people around the bridge than on St. Mark's Square. At least, that was their impression when they approached the sixteenth-century relic. The pleasant smell of tasty dishes and fresh air replaced the smell of sweat and bland perfumes. Somehow they managed to get to the middle of the bridge and then to the stone railing. It was mainly due to Sherlock, who did not care about other people and led John by the hand to the very end. They found a free place. Only now they managed to breathe and get rid of the terrible smells from their noses.

John rested his elbows on the wide railing with real relief. He sighed with his eyes closed. "I wonder if Molly will find us."

"She will" the genius nodded. "Actually, she's on the other side of the canal. Right there," he pointed at the yellow dress standing in the crowd. Molly continued her mission and tirelessly explored the souvenir stands.

John tried to find her, but he wasn't as observant as Sherlock. He was looking for a bright yellow dress when something white in his friend's hand caught his attention. He looked at him. He saw a single daisy hanging down to the ground. Sherlock knew what his friend was looking at. He picked up the flower and presented it to John.

"Is this for Francesca?" he asked.

Sherlock blinked. "You can give it to her on my behalf," he said casually.

"Why don't you give it to her in person?"

"I'm not going to sit for a few hours and listen to Mycroft. Besides, I have other plans for the evening. I still need to find some information ..."

"And get some sleep," John interrupted him. "All right. I'll give it to her on your behalf," he said, smiling warmly. He took the flower from Sherlock's hand. His warm and delicate fingers brushed his hand for a long and long time. He shuddered because his friend's eyes were intense as if he were staring at his soul. He raised a corner of his mouth. "Should I say or give her something else from you?" he asked. He saved the remnants of his cold blood, which was not easy because now Sherlock's smile widened even more.

"Maybe this". He leaned forward. A hot breath surrounded the doctor's face. Their eyes met for a few seconds. Something sparkled in the air, it got stuffy. Sherlock's delicate lips brushed John's hot skin, leaving a kiss on his right cheek.

They looked at each other again. John's face was red and he cleared his throat nervously as he used to do in stressful situations. He wanted to sink to the ground when he realized what situation he was in. With a flower in his hand, in the company of his best friend who just kissed him in front of hundreds of people on the bridge called 'bridge of lovers'. He rubbed his face with his free hand. "Sometimes I don't know if you do it deliberately or if you have a terrible sense of time and place."

Sherlock gave him a mysterious smile. He did not answer. It didn't matter anymore. They stood on the bridge for a while, and after a few minutes went to meet Molly. As they came down the stone stairs, John felt someone's gaze on him. It didn't belong to Sherlock, so he looked around and saw the man who had passed them in the opposite direction. He lowered his head as soon as he saw that the doctor was looking at him. They managed to pass through another crowd of people. They found Molly and went with her to another part of the city, where the number of shops exceeded the number of pubs in the southern part of Ireland. John realized he could no longer feel the weight on his back that had accompanied him for several hours.

"We got rid of the stalker," Sherlock muttered merrily as if he were reading his mind. They walked a few feet and then changed the subject completely. "I changed my mind. You don't have to give it to Mrs. Coletti," he pointed at the daisy in John's hand. "The bouquet she will get from you is definitely enough for her."

John raised an eyebrow. "Then what should I do with it?" He asked in a teasing tone.

Sherlock shrugged. "You may keep it," he said nonchalantly, and John chuckled softly. He was also in a good mood. They walked in silence for a long moment, not talking about the flowers, the kiss or the stalker. They patiently followed Molly, who was thrilled to choose the right gift for her admirer. Several times they stopped at street traders' stands, but nothing they had to offer appealed to Molly's not-so-sophisticated taste.

"Maybe a keychain with the inscription 'Venice'?" Molly hesitated, looking from one souvenir stand to the other. Because of the buzz and the presence of so many people, she couldn't make up her mind.

"A policeman with such a keychain will definitely gain more respect from the killer, who he will aim at with a pistol. Such a souvenir will give him seriousness when he puts the suspect in the police car."

Hearing a mockery in Sherlock's voice mixed with amusement, John rolled his eyes but didn't say a word. He stood behind Molly, who either did not hear or ignored the genius.

"A few streets away is a shop with more appropriate souvenirs." John tried to gently let her know that a more expensive gift would both last longer and looks better. He did not mean that she would spend a lot of money, he could even pay extra if she did not have so much cash. He just wanted her not to regret her decision later. It is true that he sincerely doubted that Greg would not like anything he would get from Molly. However, he preferred to spend money on the right gift and believed that the girl thought the same.

Walking toward the store, Sherlock turned to John with a slight smile. "Where's your husband?" he asked teasingly.

John pursed his lips, "Imagine I don't lead him on a leash," he said, but seeing Sherlock's face, he decided to explain to him what he meant. "It means I don't control what he does, and I don't have control over what he thinks and feels."

Sherlock smiled wider. "John, I think you may not have control over his decisions, but you certainly have an influence on his emotions. Greater than you think."

"What do you mean?" he asked completely confused.

He did not answer. Sometime later they entered an elegant store. The distinctive bell hanging by the door rang around the room. The black color of the walls, illuminated by purple and white lamp cabinets beautifully displayed the goods. It didn't have many customers because the prices of some things scared away potential customers. Molly immediately started looking through the presents, and Sherlock and John were left behind. They used the loneliness and air conditioner located just above the passage. They enjoyed the moment of peace.

"I see, not only Mrs. Hudson will get a present," Sherlock nodded at Molly. The girl was determined to choose the right gift for Lestrade in this shop. "Will you also buy something souvenir to our flat?" he asked.

John shook his head. "Not unless you want something." Of course, he knew that material things were not important to his friend. Maybe with a few exceptions. Sherlock valued his violin, favorite robe and skull lying above the fireplace. The rest of the stuff often either landed in the bin or lay forgotten in the corner. "There are times and places when memories are the only thing you want to take with you." He casually looked around the store, couldn't see Sherlock's face staring at him with a smile on his face.

"What memories will you take with you?" he asked quietly.

He sighed. "Quite different than I thought I would have after these two weeks. Your brother's company is not unpleasant," he said, staring into the eyes of a friend who narrowed his eyes to hear that. "At first I believed that it would be an unpleasant necessity for the benefit of my patients. That I would return to London and want to forget about this trip ..." he fell silent and fought the urge to cover his face with his hand. "The first days were difficult, but somehow we managed to communicate and get along. I do not regret that I agreed to his proposal. After all, I already had the experience of dealing with a difficult personality" he looked into Sherlock's eyes. "I'm glad you came. Although you were a little weird this time."

His arms and back were wrapped in Sherlock's long and warm hands. He didn't hesitate too long. When the shock passed, he embraced his friend's waist and buried his nose in his slightly sweaty shirt. A pleasant smell surrounded him. The smell he had associated with home on Baker Street. He knew that no other would ever be able to compete with it. The smell of tobacco, dust, gunpowder, and tea, soaked Sherlock's clothes. He smelled it even after being sprayed with cologne, which in some ways reminded him of the smell of Mycroft. He wasn't going to talk about it though. He did not want to destroy and interrupt one of the few and unusual behaviors of his friend. They stood cuddled up to each other until they heard the voice of a satisfied Molly, who cheerfully discussed in English with the saleswoman.

John looked at Sherlock. "I prefer when you are like that."

"Like what?

"Strange ..." John said with a smile "... but normally strange." It was the truth. He knew his friend, and although he did not admit it aloud, he was attracted by the fact that Sherlock was unpredictable and could always surprise him. A moment later, however, he remembered the reason for this conversation. "You ignored me almost all day yesterday. I know you did it on purpose, but you got on my nerves anyway. Why did you do that? Did you run an experiment on me? You waited, how long would it take before I lose my patience? I will sound like a spoiled brat, but it hurt me that you didn't pay attention to me yesterday morning. "John threw his head back and looked at Sherlock from under his eyelashes. "I would like to know why you acted this way."

Sherlock didn't answer. As usual. He smiled mysteriously and murmured in a low voice that made John shiver. "John, I always pay attention to you. Even when you think I don't." The way he spoke these words made John barely stop his body from shaking. He looked at Sherlock, who did the same. They stood side by side, staring into their eyes. None of them moved by an inch. It didn't matter that a few customers came into the store and tried to squeeze through the narrow passage behind them. For John, nothing was more important than sharp eyes, black hair, expressive cheekbones and unnaturally sensual lips of his friend. And Sherlock didn't care at the moment about anything except the deep color of John's eyes, his golden hair he almost feared to touch, and the strong arms he wanted to feel all around him again. Molly made them come back to reality. She was smiling from ear to ear and she was holding a small stylish box in her hands. She stood in front of them, forcing them to interrupt their intense gaze. She probably didn't even notice the awkward silence that reigned in a second because she opened the cream box with a wide smile and red cheeks.

"A pen?". Sherlock raised an eyebrow and sighed in a bored tone.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Perfect for taking notes from the crime scene." She was really happy with her choice. She looked carefully at the gray pen with the golden head, lying in a cream box.

"Can anything be more boring?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"Sherlock!" growled John. He forced his friend to look at him. "Say it's a beautiful pen." His tone was so quiet and imperative that the genius had no choice. He turned to Molly with a forced smile and looked at the open box she was holding.

"It's a beautiful pen, Molly. Very elegant. Graham will love it."

"Greg" John corrected him.

"Greg".

\---

The meeting, though unofficial, was endless. Mycroft counted down every minute to the end, although he put on a brave face with typical seriousness and professionalism. He was relieved when he returned to the apartment, closed the door, and hid all the folders and documents he no longer had to touch until he returned to England. That is for another twenty hours. The secret congress ended and he was extremely pleased with it. Some delegates sat on planes, others were preparing to return. Only a few of them decided to take this opportunity to stay in Venice for some time. The congress was calm despite several incidents. More importantly, it seemed that even his little trick with John was accepted by the company surprisingly good. He had got it off his chest now. He promised himself that he would never put himself in a similar situation. Without thinking much, he poured some whiskey into a crystal glass. This alcohol was always delivered to him without a word, no matter where or what room he rented. It was almost 3 PM and John was still not there. Like Sherlock. Mycroft wondered if he should call any of them. He hoped John had not forgotten about their dinner with Francesca. Although he had to admit he preferred to avoid this meeting. Of course, he guessed what they would be talking about and to whom the content of their conversations would be reported. However, he could not prevent it, and since he had no influence on this, he decided not to worry. He only wondered how John would react when he found out the truth. Maybe it will not be so bad? In spite of everything the previous night, after that unpleasant scene with Aaron and his confessions, John wasn't eager to discuss and that really surprised him. He was expecting a long and sleepless night during which he would listen to his grievances and accusations. However, nothing like that happened. John surprised him more and more often and he slowly started to understand why Sherlock was so attracted to him.

He was deep in his thoughts, staring at the sparkling water outside the window and the small yachts, gondolas, and motorboats flowing on it. The door to the apartment opened slowly, and this caught his attention. He looked at John, who was holding a bouquet in his hand. It was probably a bouquet of daisies, but Mycroft didn't know much about it, because he never needed that knowledge. John was smiling, tanned, and his hair brighter than ever before. The sun made his hair almost silver. Mycroft wondered if the doctor looked like this whenever he returned from Afghanistan. He made a mental note to request his photos from that time when they returned to London.

"I am glad you came back," he said. He turned to him with his hand in his pocket. "I was going to call you in a few minutes."

"And I would answer," John said with a smile. He showed that, as promised in the morning, he had the phone with him all the time. He entered the living room and put the bouquet on the table. "I bought it for Francesca as a thank you gift".

Mycroft raised a corner of his mouth. He set the empty glass next to the laptop on the desk. "She will definitely be happy." He walked slowly toward him. "John, tell me why you don't use the card I gave you on the first day?" he asked, and the doctor immediately looked at the gold card lying between the stack of papers on the table. "It was supposed to be for your needs, and you only used it once in two weeks."

"I have my money," the doctor patted his pocket. He was in a good mood and did not try to hide it.

"Ah, I understand." Mycroft returned his smile. "Independence above all". He stood opposite John for a long moment and stared at him. "So? Are you ready? The sooner we eat dinner, the sooner you'll have time to stroll with my brother around the city and take advantage of the last moments in Venice."

"We can go anytime," he said. "But why exactly ...".

"Because unlike us, she didn't come here by private plane," Mycroft interrupted him and satisfied his curiosity. "They changed her flight time." He came to the door. He waited for John, who took a bouquet of white daisies, except one flower from the table, and followed the genius.

A moment later they stood in front of the apartment of Francesca and Franco Coletti. Mycroft knocked lightly with his long fingers, which fascinated John in a strange way for a long time. Francesca greeted them with a smile. She was wearing a mint-color dress, long enough to cover her knees, but giving her enough freedom of movement. As usual, her hair was pinned on top of her head. She reached out in an inviting gesture and hugged them both, to the satisfaction of John and the slightly smaller of Mycroft. When John saw the interior design and colors of the salon, he guessed that Francesca was the person who had the last word in the marriage. The living room and bedroom - which John saw out of the corner of his eye - were decorated to her liking. Pastel pink color decorated the walls and upholstery of chairs and sofas. Slightly darker, but still pink curtains fluttered in the open window. The glass table and crystal chandelier added charm and the lack of rugs and the presence of many plants gave the impression of freshness. The living room was in a definitely modern style, which only assured John that each guest had a choice of an apartment that suited their taste. He noticed travel bags standing next to the bedroom wall.

Francesca accepted the bouquet of daisies with a sincere smile. She disappeared for a moment to put flowers in one of the many vases, then joined the three men on the balcony. Her apartment as one of the few had a big terrace with table and chairs. The day was beautiful, the chairs comfortable and the wine cool. John used every minute he had to spend surrounded by Francesca, her husband, and calm and relaxed Mycroft. Dinner started with a nice conversation. Mr. Coletti opened a bottle of white wine, which John found a bit tart, but he did not complain about it. They talked about the last two weeks, about food from different parts of the world, travels, a passion for architecture and art. Mycroft didn't say much about the last topic. He was not a fan of theater, ballet or opera. He became interested in the conversation when the conversation turned to more political topics. Franco was also interested in this. John and Francesca listened to this exciting conversation for a while, but the doctor was completely lost after a few minutes. Fortunately, the knocking on the door interrupted the ongoing discussion. It turned out it was the waiters who brought dinner, ordered by Francesca. Four plates appeared on the table along with a new bottle of wine. The men quietly and silently disappeared from the apartment.

John was relieved the topic of politics was over. His satisfaction turned into consternation when he saw what he was about to eat that afternoon. There was something on the plate in front of him that looked like anything he knew. The 'dinner' resembled pieces of peelings, arranged on a plate in disarray and sticking out in all directions. There was something green and orange in it that he could not describe otherwise as another portion of peelings pulled out of the trash can. The size of the dish would fit in one hand. Mrs. Hudson used to throw larger portions into the waste bin. John did not want to be considered a peasant without culture, but curiosity overcame him. He looked at Mycroft to draw his attention.

"What is it?" he asked, looking at his plate.

"Confit artichoke serve with truffle potato, saffron and baked vegetables," Francesca replied before Holmes could do it. She watched John's surprised and confused face with a smile. At the same time, she gently poked her portion with a silver fork.

The doctor nodded as a sign that he understood, although he was not entirely convinced that it was indeed their dinner. However, he did not doubt that the price represented by several slices on the plate had to be humongous. He looked at Mycroft. "And this ..." he said and pointed to the white irregular thing with the tip of his knife, "is food too?"

Mycroft did not even try to hide his amusement. John was sure he had to be pretty good entertainment for him. Because he, John Watson, an ordinary man accustomed to normal and not very elegant food, was now revealing a total lack of familiarity and habits in the high class. He felt like a small child who got an expensive toy for the first time and did not know what to do with it.

"Of course, John. Why are you asking?" Mycroft was still smiling honestly.

John looked down slightly embarrassed. He shifted in his chair and murmured, "I thought it was styrofoam." To his surprise, he heard Francesca's giggling and Mycroft's almost imperceptible chuckle. Franco Coletti was already busy eating, so he did not join the general amusement at the table. John narrowed his eyes. He looked at his husband's face and once again regretted that perhaps it was one of the last times he saw his real face. He preferred when Mycroft threw off the mask and showed his true face to others, even if it literally lasted a moment. John wanted to remember this moment and take it home with him.

"My dear Mycroft, it's really a shame you didn't taken John with you before. He missed so much."

"And we also, as I see." Mycroft did not hide his good mood. Only John reacted with a frown, though he was still smiling.

The food disappeared from the plates as quickly as the wine from the glasses. Maybe even faster. This time the conversation focused on wine. Their types, color, and the best plantations. Mycroft was familiar with the subject, as John noted. He was glad that the genius was able to discuss not only important topics related to politics and the world, but he had a conversation in which everyone could understand and join. From time to time, he added his thoughts and comments, just like Francesca did. Not knowing when and how they started talking about his relationship with Mycroft, making the genius ostentatiously rolled his eyes.

"What is it like to is Mycroft's husband?" Francesca asked.

John looked at the genius. Perhaps he was looking for some advice. Maybe he hoped that he would take the lead and help him get through the subject. Mycroft, however, seemed uninterested in making the conversation. John sighed, rubbed his thighs and cleared his throat. "It wasn't the best at first, but over time it turned out that ..." he fell silent, thinking about the right choice of words, "... despite the differences, we can come to an agreement. Even in difficult situations. Although we rarely have the same opinion ... ".

At this point, Mycroft finally decided to interrupt him. "Don't bother, John," he said gently. He reached for a glass of red wine, then unceremoniously emptied it in one move. "Francesca knows everything."

"How is that?" John asked, blinking quickly.

"To tell the truth, Mrs. Coletti suggested that I finally make up my mind and ask someone trusted for help." He put an empty glass under the bottle that Franco Coletti was holding, completely uninterested in the revelation he had heard. The silence was broken by the sound of pouring wine. He finally looked at the surprised doctor and smiled uncertainly. "Forgive me, John. I was thinking about telling you, but at the same time, I wanted you not to leave your role. Besides, Francesca was in control of everything." He was prepared for an outburst of John's anger, or at least for his grievances and reproaches. To his surprise, the doctor sank heavily into a chair and covered his eyes with his hand, but he didn't seem annoyed or grumpy.

"I made a fool of myself by talking about our first meeting and everything else" he looked up at Francesca, who was sitting smiling and watching the reactions of both men. "Well, it doesn't matter now." He cast a quick glance at Mycroft. "I'm glad you decided to make me aware of it at least now," he added and focused his attention on the woman again. "I'm sorry for all these lies."

Francesca was still smiling and did not look offended. She twirled the glass between her fingers and looked at him with a mysterious expression. "Were this really lies, John? You looked honestly when you talked about Mycroft when you first see him."

John remembered the conversation they had a few days ago. He knew what she was talking about, which made him want to sink to the ground. "It's true" he stammered and thought for a moment, "he impressed me."

"That was my goal. You were supposed to live with my brother, after all." Mycroft's face was lit by the warm afternoon sun, which, combined with his calm voice, gave the impression that he was a completely different person than he had been a dozen minutes before.

"And as you knew, he doesn't let an ordinary person to approach his brother," Francesca added. "You appreciated him, Mycroft" she gave the genius a meaningful look.

"John is the best, and actually the only true friend of Sherlock. They support each other, help each other. They live under one roof despite adversity. He was the obvious choice for me in this situation. I had to choose a person whom I trusted completely" he muttered with his mouth stuck to the glass. He tried not to look at the piercing eyes of the woman, which was quite a difficult task even for him.

"Is it really the only reason?" she asked with motherly tenderness. "I knew many people around you, honey. Many of them will fit perfectly as your partner. And you trust many of them. And yet you ask John for help."

Mycroft was silent, he was looking for the right words to show that the choice he had made, by the way long ago, was the most appropriate for him.

Francesca tactfully and respectfully continued to express her thoughts aloud. "But I see it is a good choice. You are happy. I see it. You fit together and I don't see other people than John next to you. You feel good in your partnership."

"For some time now," John said quietly. His barely audible words reached the sensitive ears of Francesca and Mycroft.

"I hoped you also be together as a couple for the next congress."

Mycroft and John looked at her immediately. The genius sighed, and the doctor visibly tried to hide his embarrassment, once again covering his eyes with his hand.

"I had never see Mycroft so calm and content. Your company is good for him, John." She embarrassed her new friend without hesitation. She knew that Mycroft was also not deaf to her flattery. It was noticeable because he squirmed slightly in the chair and avoided her eyes. "He like your company very much, and you him too?" she did not even try to be gentle in the pursuit of confessions, although she did not lose any of her elegance and care. "What do you likes about him, John?" She put her elbows on the table, put her fingers together and put her chin on them.

John shuddered under her piercing gaze. He realized how she got what she wanted. At the same time, she was warm and gentle, he admired her, though now he had more respect for her than at the beginning. He had no doubt that even Mycroft submitted to her persuasion when she looked at him that way. "I like he always tries to be a gentleman," he said after a long time.

"I'm 'trying' to be?" Mycroft asked with genuine surprise. John struck his pride.

"Well, sometimes you lose your temper." He looked into the genius's eyes with a slightly mocking expression. "Besides, I like how you care about people you love. Although you often threaten others when you do it, but you can't help it I think. If I had the power like you, I would also use it for my own purposes".

"I doubt it, John. You're too noble for that." Another sip of wine eased his dry throat after what he heard about himself.

John raised an eyebrow provocatively. "I think you meant to say 'too naive'."

Mycroft looked at him with gentleness and kindness in his eyes for the first time. "No, John. I've always found you a good-hearted man with a slightly too idealized attitude towards life". 

Francesca watched two men who unconsciously looked deeply into each other's eyes with smiles on their faces. She was going to sit longer and stroke the glowing spark between them, if not Franco. Mr. Coletti probably had enough of this sentimental scene, because he put a chilled bottle of wine in the middle of the table and rubbed his hands, letting them know that they should do something more pleasant than discussing feelings. They talked long and vigorously, but neither Mycroft nor John looked so absorbed in new topics. Francesca could see them glancing at each other and exchanging comments using more emotional voices. She liked what she saw. She was not happy when she had to get ready to leave. She reluctantly released John from her arms, and he did not seem happy having to say goodbye to her at the door too. Even Mycroft stood patiently as she kissed his cheeks. She handed them a small gift, wrapped in a red box and decorated with a golden ribbon, as a farewell gift. She regretted that her stay did not last longer. She wanted to stay with John and Mycroft for a few more days, but she understood they had other responsibilities. She hoped it wasn't the last time she could enjoy John's company. She told Mycroft about it of course.

When the door to the apartment closed behind the men, she sighed sadly. She was absorbed in thoughts and did not even notice the presence of hotel employees who, instructed by her husband, slowly started to take their luggage to the boat. She did not like this part of the journey, so she went to the bedroom, where she could be alone. She closed the door quietly, sat down on the bed, and reached for the telephone on the table. It was the only thing that stood out in the whole apartment. It was like one of those antique phones she had in her house. She had a weakness for old things, but only for those that worked. Unlike her husband, she didn't bother collecting antiques that had no practical value. She dialed the number and sat on the bed. She didn't wait long. Three bells were enough before she heard the familiar voice of an older but playful man.

"Hello?"

"Hello, my dear. Is your wife around?"

"Francesca? Dear Lord, I haven't heard your voice for so long!" Mr. Holmes shouted cheerfully. There was silence for a while as he looked around for his wife. "Honey, it's your friend," he murmured feistily. He handed the phone to his wife and gave her a loud spank.

"You old wanton". She was laughing. She put the phone to her ear, massaging the burning spot in her lower back. As soon as she heard her friend's voice, she smiled even wider. "Francesca! Finally. I was slowly beginning to doubt you would call. Tell me." She immediately switched to Italian. She had no problem to do it just like her sons.

"I did as you asked," Mrs. Coletti said. She could almost see the smile of satisfaction on her friend's face. Although she wasn't convinced of her idea, she wanted to help because she understood her motherly feelings, which she also had for both Holmes brothers and recently also for John Watson. "I think it can work."

"Of course it will work!" Mrs. Holmes had no doubt. "No matter who does it, I am sure of one thing. I am sure that at the end of the year, on Christmas Eve, I will have to prepare one bed less. It is not important for me with which of my sons John will share it."

Francesca shook her head but didn't stop smiling.

"Forgive me for entangling you in this. But I had no other choice. I have long come to terms with the idea that I will not have grandchildren," Mrs. Holmes sighed. "But I will not let them remain alone for the rest of their lives because of their quirks. If not daughter-in-law, then I want at least a son-in-law, and I don't care which of them will give him to me."

"I also have no idea what John will decide. Because you know it will be his decision, right?"

Mrs. Holmes smiled under her breath. "Ever since I saw this boy, I knew he would be someone special in our family. He was already Sherlock's best friend, but I saw in Mycroft's eyes that he either envied his brother's brother or wanted to be in his place. Sherly could never decide. He never was too effusive with feelings, and I won't even mention my older son. Anyway, thank you for mixing up a little between them. "

"You wanted to say that I made them realize how much they could mean to each other," Francesca corrected her.

"That too. I hope that one of them will finally take matters into their own hands," sighed the mother of Sherlock and Mycroft.

"Franco also helped, with his passion for wine although he did it unknowingly. John and Mycroft left me slightly drunk and in a good mood. It was obvious they were attracted to each other. Either Mycroft will stop to be so tense, or Sherlock will break his insecurity. Either way, I'm sure tonight one of them will win John's heart over, you will get what you want and you will go to sleep knowing that preparations for the upcoming Christmas will take you less time. "

Mrs. Holmes laughed into the phone. She was grateful to her friend for her efforts and dedication. She was also sure that she was having a good time. "Between you and me. Do you have your candidate?" she asked.

Francesca did not hide her amusement. "I have, but I won't tell you who he is, because I don't want to jinx it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear, guys. I will be out of town for the next few days so the next chapter will not be uploaded until March 17.  
> Thank you for your patience and support!


	21. Chapter 21

The box was suede and had the color of ripe cherry, it could fit in one hand. John was sure the contents of this box must have been extremely valuable and beautiful. He turned it between his fingers and looked at Mycroft out of the corner of his eye, who was walking a step ahead of him. They were slowly walking towards their apartment through the wide hall that he already knew by heart. He knew where the carpet was, where it was necessary to move, so as not to hit the ebony table or double benches, standing against the walls and separating the apartments. Since they said goodbye to Francesca and her husband, Mycroft didn't say a word. He walked in silence with a strange expression on his face. John could not deduce whether it was the result of thoughtfulness, anger or other reasons. He rarely managed to accurately assess the mood of a genius, so this time he decided not to do it. He followed his back and tried to guess what was in the box.

"What could it be?" he asked himself a little too loudly. He was surprised when he didn't hear Mycroft's answer. Usually, Sherlock would dispel his doubts within a split second, but apparently, in this case, the older brother had no intention of showing off his intelligence. "Did we get the same thing?" He wanted to provoke some reaction, which, as it turned out a moment later, he managed to achieve.

Mycroft cleared his throat because he felt his mouth was terribly dry. "I know you like surprises. I won't take the pleasure of unpacking a present." His voice was a little indistinct, and low. John noticed now that his steps were not the same either. Mycroft walked a lot slower than usual, and although he tried to hide it, the slight, almost invisible imbalance testified that the alcohol they drank that afternoon was starting to affect his body. Actually its amount. Franco Coletti offered them the best and strong wine, which was not a good combination with the hot afternoon heat.

Strangely, John felt good. Of course, he wasn't 100% sober and he knew it, but he didn't have problems keeping his balance. His eyes were not in the worst shape either, because he noticed that the box in his hand was one, not two or four. One small red box that almost fell out of his hand when he hit Mycroft's back, who stopped suddenly. John looked up and saw Molly in front of him. She was also coming back to her apartment. She was carrying a plate with some salad and a tiny amount of cheese. The blue dress fluttered lightly, just like her hair.

"Mycroft! ... I mean Mr. Holmes" she corrected herself immediately. "John," she said with a smile when she saw him.

"Good morning, Miss Hooper. I hope you have a great day."

John frowned. The official tone of conversation surprised him and amused him a bit. He realized, however, that it was caused by Mycroft's indisposition, and he also knew that Molly was scared of Sherlock's brother. He smiled slightly at the strange sound of the genius's voice. "Are you okay, Molly? Why do you walk around the hotel alone?"

"Sherlock sleeps off last night." Before she finished, she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "He is preparing for the evening because he wants to take a walk around the city with you."

"Sleeping off?". John did not hide his surprise. He passed Mycroft and stood before her. The genius was silent. He did not look ready for discussion, but rather someone who wants to be alone. "In the morning he was happy and full of energy."

"You know how it was," she said quietly, still avoiding looking at Mycroft. "He stood on the balcony for half a night and the other half watched something on his phone."

John nodded. "Then, when he rests, please tell him to come for me. Then we will go to the city." He had to end the conversation because he saw Mycroft didn't look very good. At first glance, nothing seemed to be happening, but John could see the effort on his face as he tried to keep his position straight. Otherwise, he would sway. "Let's say in an hour or two." He pushed Mycroft's back lightly, directing him to the apartment. When they entered, the couch in the center of the living room buckled under the weight of a genius. "Don't move. I'll give you water." John passed him.

Mycroft sighed but tried to behave normally. He rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers, and when a doctor appeared next to him, he gladly grabbed the offered glass of water. "Thank you".

John rarely had the opportunity to see him in this condition, so he looked at the thirsty genius with undisguised interest and a little amusement. After all, Mycroft was not only a connoisseur of wine, but he was also very knowledgeable about other stronger alcohols. At the moment, he was far from staggering or babbling. Despite this, his red cheeks, slightly shiny eyes and slow-motion seemed to the doctor not only funny but even charming. John sat across Mycroft and crossed his legs.

"Do you have any plans?" he asked when Mycroft put the empty glass down on the table.

"Yes," he replied. "Organize our things, pack, and get back to hard work from tomorrow."

John looked at him with meaningful silence. He saw the genius was slightly stunned by alcohol, but at the same time, his condition was not bad enough to make him stay in the hotel for the rest of the day. Also, for some reason, he liked the thought of sharing the evening with Sherlock and Mycroft at the same time. Of course, he was also aware that persuading Mycroft for an evening city tour would be a difficult task. "I understand," he said and got up from the couch. "In that case, I will start packing my stuff too." He grabbed a daisy from the table, which he got from a friend, and put it in a vase with other flowers.

Mycroft finally focused his eyes on him. "There's no need, John. You have reserved this evening for my brother after all." He stared at the doctor, walking slowly toward the bedroom.

"I won't leave you alone with all this mess. I can at least pack my things," he turned and tilted his head. "Besides, I still have an hour."

Mycroft got up from the couch as sluggishly and slowly as John had done it a few moments earlier. He looked better. Much better than the doctor expected after such a short rest and a small amount of water. If John did not look at him so closely, he would be able to believe that he was in perfect condition. But he was betrayed by the red skin on his neck and a slightly tangled lock of hair on his forehead. A small vein pulsed at Mycroft's temple, which was destroying the perfect effect of the refined head of government. "John, your enthusiasm is contagious but unnecessary." He took a few steps toward the open window. "I have my people to do such things."

John smiled. "In that case, I don't see why you should sit here alone," he said, looking at his feet that began to guide him towards the genius. He stopped next to one of the armchairs standing in the middle of the living room. "Join us" he suggested with a warm voice.

Mycroft looked at him pityingly. "Thank you, but I must refuse."

"Are you going to sit alone on our last evening in Venice in an empty living room?"

Mycroft sighed. Not to express his impatience, he sounded rather like a resigned man. "Let me spend this time as I used to do before."

John felt unbelievably sad. He was silent for a long time, staring at Mycroft. John knew that the older Holmes brother preferred loneliness. He knew he shied away from people because he considered them not worthy of his attention. But at the moment he felt sorry for him like never before. How many times has he sat locked up in four walls with a glass of whiskey in his hand and stared alone at the wall? How many trips ended in this way? Has he ever tried to break through this wall of egocentrism and aversion to others to spend time pleasantly in the company of someone other than his reflection in the mirror? At that moment, John's desire to be with two weirdos, - the Holmes brothers, - turned into a desire to help Mycroft taste a bit of normality.

"I really wish you could join us," he said, looking straight into Mycroft's eyes. He didn't want to be pushy, but he noticed that sometimes he had to force Mycroft to agree to his suggestions, which ultimately worked out for both of them. "Come with us," he insisted.

"Sorry, John, but I refuse. It will be better for both of us if we spend the rest of the trip separately." Maybe he would be more convincing if he didn't avoid the doctor's eyes. He stood staring ahead. The orange sun warmed his pale face.

"I understand," John said. He clenched his fingers nervously and slowly began to unbutton his vest. He hung it over the back of the couch. "Although it would be nice to spend this evening together without pretending," he continued, untying and getting rid of his tie. He looked at Mycroft. He wasn't surprised when he saw his intense gaze. He was slowly getting used to the slight shiver he felt every time he looked at him that way.

"The company of my brother and Miss Hooper will certainly be enough for you. Besides, I think my presence would be at least burdensome."

John hesitated with a strange expression that made Mycroft focus his attention on him. "It may surprise you, but I like it when you are near me. For some reason, I enjoy your presence and I really would prefer you not to sit alone in the hotel, but come with us" he fell silent. "With me," he added a little quieter.

Mycroft blinked and straightened up with his arms folded. "And what would that look like?" he asked with a slight smile, which was supposed to make the doctor realize how wrong this idea was. "Can you imagine me eating pizza in worn jeans, a stretched shirt with some banal inscription and a camera hanging around my neck?"

John couldn't help imagining Mycroft like this. He smiled honestly. He couldn't disagree with him, but he would give a lot to see him like that. He walked slowly toward him, and Mycroft reacted with a slight frown. "You're right. I can't imagine. But I bet we would find a solution," he said cheerfully. He was close to Mycroft. When he reached out he felt the soft fabric of the shirt on his forearm under his fingers. Mycroft jerked slightly but did not pull away. He closely watched the movements of the doctor, who ran his hands higher and higher. John's fingers slipped between his shirt and the vest, which he eventually decided to take off quickly. Mycroft was silent and watched what else John decided to do to help him look like ordinary people. He wouldn't admit it, but he liked to look at him, and he was extremely happy to be in the center of John's attention. He shuddered when the vest disappeared from his back. He felt chills now as the doctor undid his cuffs and wrapped his shirt sleeves up to his elbows with slow and careful movements.

"It's better now," John murmured with obvious satisfaction. "And maybe ..." he didn't finish, instead he stood on his toes and put his hands on Mycroft's collar. He quickly and nimbly untied the gray-purple tie and pulled it down with one hand.

The delicate material slid down Mycroft's neck. He stood upright, composed, cool. A shiver pierced his body at the sight of John's face so close to his own. The moment he felt the touch of silk on his neck and saw John's blue eyes, his body reacted. Their eyes met. John froze and Mycroft's lips moved forward. He leaned quickly, but not fast enough to catch John's lips between his. The doctor who had stood on his toes, now unexpectedly sank to his feet, moving away from Mycroft's face. Genius, however, did not let him do more. He quickly bowed his head and finally kissed him. Deep, with no rush. He enjoyed the gentle touch of his lips. He knew they had longed for it for a long time, though their pride and stubbornness prevented them from admitting it. The kiss deepened with every move. Mycroft sucked John's lower lip. For stability and to show that he would not let him pull away, he held his wrist in his hand, and pressed him firmly against his body with his free arm.

John didn't even try to break free. Mycroft held him tight and his strength prevented him from moving. He was at his grace, which made him tremble at the thought of what he would be able to do if he let him do more. Mycroft's possessive mouth sucked his lower lip hard. John moaned, which only encouraged the other man. He began to feel dizzy. The world was circling and the blood was pulsing in his veins. It was hard for him to breathe, and it took a moment to realize that it was because of the unimaginable force with which Mycroft kept him pressed against his chest. He put his only free hand on him and was about to get some free space for him when suddenly everything ended. Mycroft released his grip slowly. His mouth, which he had kept tight on John until now, was lightly brushing his upper lip. The kiss from passionate and possessive turned into a delicate and almost innocent. John would have wondered what had happened, but he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't gather his thoughts, and he only came to his senses when Mycroft pulled away from him and cleared his throat, rubbing his neck.

John was breathing quickly and deeply. He stared with misty eyes at Mycroft's red cheeks, his accelerated breath and the mismatched confusion on his face. He realized that once again for some unknown reason he had led the genius to a state when he could not control himself. He would have enjoyed this fact perhaps more if he had been able to predict these sudden attacks of passion and Mycroft's emotional instability. He smiled and approached Holmes again. "I hope this was your response to the invitation."

Mycroft blinked quickly, making John smile wider.

"I'm glad," John assured him. He undid two buttons shirt under Mycroft's chin.

They were silent. Mycroft wasn't sure where to focus his eyes, and John didn't know what else to say to break the prolonged silence. Fortunately, they heard quick steps in the corridor. The door opened without knocking. Sherlock entered the apartment. Molly also entered, but more timidly. John looked at his sleepy friend with a hint of amusement. Sherlock's curly hair was even more messy than usual. He had a swollen face and red marks on his cheek left by the pillow. In his narrow eyes, John could not see the sharp look and was extremely grateful for that. He was afraid of how his friend would react if he looked closer and saw evidence of what had happened here a moment ago.

"Ready, John?" he asked, stretching and yawning softly. "I managed to find some interesting places in the area." He rubbed his eyes intensively, but with every moment he looked full of energy.

"What places?" John tried to occupy his mind with something different than deduction. He stepped away from Mycroft and invisibly straightened his shirt, which tilted him during the kiss.

"Places of murders, John!" he didn't even try to hide his excitement. "In the seventeenth century, there were two serial killers who had more creativity than today's degenerates who have access to so many technologies! Can you imagine it? Two serial killers in such a small city? And they acted only a dozen or so years apart." Sherlock started walking around the room. He ignored or missed the glances the other three were giving him. Molly wasn't delighted, rather worried. Mycroft rolled his eyes, only John felt a shiver at the thought of a small walk to the crime scene. "We have to see this," he added excitedly.

"Will there be a place for a proper dinner and rest in your plan?" John secretly looked at Mycroft. He hoped Sherlock's plans would not deter him from joining.

"Of course," Sherlock gave him a compelling smile. "I never forget about your needs or your stomach."

John raised an eyebrow. "Since when?" he asked and smiled back.

"Then, let's not delay it" Mycroft interrupted them. He passed Molly and walked to the door. "Unless you consider visiting the city at night more romantic."

Sherlock looked at him incredulously. "Are you going with us?". He didn't get an answer. He was surprised by his brother's decision, but he guessed what was the reason. He would have preferred to spend the evening alone with John, but since Molly had to join them anyway, Mycroft's forced presence did not change much in his plans. He was even a little excited about the possibility of high-level competition, which was guaranteed by his brother. He took the stairs to the porter's lodge with them.

"Our last day ... such a shame," Molly said as she walked alongside John.

"But those memories..." he smiled. He wanted to cheer her up a little because he noticed that she was a bit depressed. Perhaps it was also caused by pain because she had patches for corns on her feet. "Are you sure you can handle this walk?" he asked, pointing to her flat shoes.

"Yes. These high heels wiped my skin yesterday, thankfully I took something more comfortable with me too," she said, brushing her hair behind my ear. "I'm grateful to Sherlock for having reserved a private motorboat for us."

"Did he do that?" John was surprised. He looked back and gave his friend a warm smile, which Sherlock immediately returned.

Finally, they reached the ground floor. They passed the porter who said goodbye and wished them a pleasant evening, adding a gentle bow. It was warm outside. The sun was slowly starting to hide behind the taller buildings, and people were sitting at the tables set up nearby the hotels. The crowd was not so exhausting. The port changed from bustling with people rushing around to a place for a quiet evening hanging out in bars and restaurants. The motorboat stood between gondolas on the banks of the canal. It rocked peacefully on the water next to the blue bollards, signaling a parking space. It was about twenty-six feet long. It looked as if it was made exclusively of polished dark wood. Behind the helm stood an elegant man with a wonderful white smile and sunglasses on his nose. Behind him were two rows of benches, upholstered in soft suede material. Mycroft, like John and Sherlock, had no problem getting into the motorboat, unlike Molly, who was the second to climb. Despite minor problems, the boat bounced off the shore after a few minutes.

Following Sherlock's order, they headed to the northeast of the city. They sailed along the main channel, passing smaller boats, gondolas, and motorboats full of tourists along the way. The water carried the noise of the engines, the motorboat floated on small waves, and the wind pleasantly pulled their hair. The sun was going more and more towards the west, which made the sky radiate warm colors of orange, pink and red. It was wonderful. This was not even diminished by the fact that the part of the city they were heading to was not very representative. The buildings were not so elegant and decorated. In some places, a high wall separated them from the water. There were slightly rusty boats and low construction cranes by the shore. The motorboat passed the gardens known as 'Giardini della Biennale' and headed north. After a few minutes they approached the shore, and on the left, they saw the roof of the Basilica of Santi Giovanni e Paolo hovering over the buildings. After another few minutes, they finally entered one of the narrower canals, which was divided into two branches. The motorboat captain knew the area very well, so he was aware that he couldn't go any further. He swam ashore. They got out of the boat onto the shore and headed deep into the city.

In the meantime, Sherlock began to talk about one of the two serial killers that he murdered in this area. John listened intently and imagined seventeenth-century Venice and its realities. He was looking at the high walls of buildings soaked with moisture. Protruding bricks emerging from under the cracks. Uneven pavements and solid walls separating the city's districts. According to Sherlock, it was in these areas in the seventeenth century that the bodies of boys under the age of fifteen began to be found. All of them were dressed in sailor uniforms popular at the time, but there were no signs of violence on their bodies. The series of killings lasted several months and despite the efforts during this time no suspect was found.

Passing narrow and winding streets, Sherlock would stop from time to time and show them the grim recesses in which the bodies of the victims were found. He drew conclusions that at that time no one could have guessed. He exposed the ineptitude of the judiciary and accurately assessed the errors of specialists at the time. John and Molly listened to his deductions with pleasure, but Mycroft said nothing. He watched the commitment of his brother and from time to time also looked at John. His face didn't show much, but he didn't look like someone who was forced to be there and was bored to death. When Sherlock finally explained that behind the crimes stood a sixty-five-year-old traveling watchmaker known to the police for his tendency to pedophilia and repeatedly punished for homosexual practices, they went to the scene of another crime. It was getting really dark. The area was free of tourists who preferred lit and more popular places in the southwest of the city. Only the locals wandered around and dealt with daily matters.

"We have to go this way," Sherlock said, pointing to a very narrow passage. It was so tight that they had to go one after the other.

"I know this place. I read about it," Molly said softly. "It's one of the narrowest streets in the world. It's called ..." She was silent for a moment, trying to remember the name.

"Calle Varisco". Mycroft's voice echoed in the narrow passage. He walked calmly at the very end. He looked at John, who looked back and gave him a mischievous smile.

"It is really narrow here." Molly tried to measure the gap between the buildings with her hands. "I hope this street is not too long."

Sherlock, who was walking ahead, turned and gave his brother a playful look. He was careful to walk in such a way that he did not rip his shoulder against the wall. He knew that Mycroft would probably not have problems with it either, but he couldn't resist sending him a smirk. The narrow passage ended with a wider square with a flower shop on the corner and a small restaurant opposite it. John breathed a sigh of relief because he didn't like such cramped places. They stopped in the square. They decided to stay in this place for a moment and enjoy the fresh air. The small square, just over forty feet in diameter, was empty. It was lit by a single lamp hanging on the wall of one of the buildings. Behind the display window in the flower shop were beautiful floral compositions, prepared especially for visitors, but the effect spoiled the bars that protected the window. Molly admired the interior of the store. John accompanied her. Mycroft, who stood several feet away with his hand in his pocket, watched the doctor. A moment later he saw Sherlock standing next to him.

"I shouldn't be surprised you joined," he said. "But are you sure you do not want to go back to the hotel? After all, you hate this type of ..." he looked at his brother, "... legwork" he added with amusement.

Mycroft did not want to give him satisfaction, but his brother was right. He preferred to avoid senseless walking and unnecessary effort. "It's nice that you're worried. After all, you know how I feel when you get involved in some suspicious stuff every time."

Sherlock smiled wryly. "Relax, Mycroft. I can always count on John."

"It is true". Mycroft nodded slowly.

Mycroft and Sherlock stood in the passage of the dark alley. A shadow covered their faces. If a stranger looked at them right now, they would feel a shiver. The sun hid behind the horizon some time ago, and the dark sky was decorated with twinkling stars. John and Molly relaxed after a long journey one of the narrowest streets in the world and improved their mood by seeing beautiful flowers behind the window. They joined the Holmes brothers. They were ready to wander through the city but Sherlock let them know, they should have followed him. A few feet away there was an abandoned single room that caught the attention of the younger genius a few minutes earlier. They climbed three steps into a small, but tall room, without windows. The front door was also gone, and there was no sign that it would ever be there. The empty walls were smeared only with messy graffiti, smelled musty and damp. The room, space or whatever you could call it, was empty. There wasn't a single thing. The stone, but decorated and old floor was uneven and dirty with some red stains. The faint light coming from the lamp hung outside only added a darker mood.

"So it's here," Sherlock muttered, looking around.

"What is going on?" John asked. For some reason he felt a creepy shiver, so he crossed his arms and cast a glance at the high walls.

"When you and my brother were playing mommy and daddy, I was interested in unusual cases in Venice." He imagined the faces of his brother, John, and Molly, who stood behind him but continued. "At the end of the eighteenth century, the bodies of two people were found in this place. Rivals, to be more specific. They fought a duel here for the love of their lives."

Mycroft, who was closest to the exit, sighed and rolled his eyes like never before. "Sherlock, I beg you..."

"Around midnight people heard the shot. The second shot followed later, but it was only in the morning it was decided to check what happened. The assembled people found the bodies of two people in this place. As it turned out the bodies of a woman and a man" he continued and pointed his finger at the hole in the wall. The hole was slightly higher than his head. Then he looked down. John and Molly followed his gaze. There was a large reddish mark on the ground, obviously from some fluid. The stain soaked into the stone floor permanently. It narrowed and ran outside the room.

"A flintlock pistol was found near the woman's hand," Sherlock's voice echoed quietly in the room. "There was no trace of the other pistol". He looked up at concerned Molly and intrigued John. "Any ideas?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Molly looked thoughtful. "Maybe it was the lover? Maybe she had to do it because she was forced?" She narrowed her eyes. Her thoughts tried to find the most likely answer. "Or it was her rival and she did not want to let her beloved fight for death and life for the love of another?"

Sherlock looked at her with slight amusement. Later, his gaze followed John, who went to the wall and pulled a phone out of his pocket. "Notice, Molly, I didn't say a word about who the rivals were and who they fought for." He did a short pause. He knelt beside the red spot on the floor and continued. "Both victims loved one man. Of course, they didn't know they were rivals. They only found out about it here. Brother and sister realized that their chosen one was the same man. The man had no intention of hurting his sister, but she had no choice. When she understood the seriousness of the situation, she killed her brother and later committed suicide by shooting herself at the temple. "

"Why?" Molly couldn't control her emotions.

"She did it because she did not want to expose the rest of the family to the humiliation that would be brought about by the fact that their son's chosen one was another man. Also, her brother would also face terrible punishment and condemnation for this type of practice. That is why she killed him and later she took her own life because of pain and loss. "

John, who has been silent so far, snorted loudly. "Sherlock, where did you read this nonsense? It's not a bullet hole," he said and pointed a finger at the hole in the wall. He stood on tiptoes and lit it with a phone light.

"Of course it's not," Mycroft said, apparently fed up with this performance. "This hole is the result of an unprofessional attempt to hung the painting on the wall. The neighbors apparently can't use the drill because they have drilled over two feet of a thick wall." He came calmly to the stain. "And this ..." he said, pointing to the floor, "... this is not dried blood, it is just a damp stain left after flooding."

A mysterious but exciting moment disappeared, but Sherlock did not seem disappointed or annoyed. He was grinning, ignoring the regret written on Molly's face. "Well done, John. You figured it out earlier than I hoped you would."

"Why did you come up with this whole story?" he asked slightly amused by the situation.

"I thought this would add some romanticism to our trip." He shrugged.

"What is romantic about homicide and suicide?" Mycroft was a bit annoyed by the senseless waste of time.

"John has nothing against such stories." His smile was so contagious that the doctor shook his head and cheered up even more. "He likes the combination of romance and crime, so I was sure that I would have a little fun and I would also give him a chance for some favorite entertainment."

"Beautiful entertainment. If this is what your evenings look like, then I will have to give my people new orders," Mycroft turned and left the cool building. They followed him.

They got out of the winding and narrow streets. They passed lively bars and clubs. They heard the splashing of water, and whistling of gondoliers passing by and loud and cheerful groups of tourists. From the windows of private apartments came the voices of the angry residents who were trying to fall asleep. The Holmes Brothers with John and Molly made their way through the main channel beyond the western part of the city. The night was young, and Sherlock still had to tell them about the case of the second serial killer. They were going to the next crime scene. On the way, they passed the famous 'Ponte delle Tette' bridge. When Molly heard the story of where the unusual name came from and what it meant, she blushed and fell silent for a few minutes.

Finally, Sherlock found a place that interested him so much. It turned out that the second killer was a misogyny-gondolier. He murdered women in the western and southern parts of the city. His victims were lonely ladies who unsuspectingly used his boat at night. Instead of going home, they went under water. He abandoned their bodies in various parts of the city. His trail was only found after the sixth victim, and it took the authorities more than two years to catch him. Sherlock's story interested John and Molly very much. His deductions effectively made their time more enjoyable. Even Mycroft, who didn't really like this type of entertainment, occasionally added short comments, adding more competition to the discussion. They moved from one crime scene to another until the topic of the second serial killer finally ended. Sherlock deduced everything he could. Mycroft pointed out his mistakes every time he had a different opinion. But John and Molly learned more than during their entire stay in Venice. The hours went by. They felt hunger more and more. They decided it was time to relax and eat something.

They have been looking for a place for a long time. John's most important criterion was the smell that came from the kitchen. For Molly, the look of the restaurant and surroundings. Mycroft paid the most attention to the prices of served dishes. Sherlock didn't care where they were going. They wandered around the city until they finally reached the main channel, where both the number of hotels and tourists suggested that it was in this area that the food was the best. Nearby restaurants were full of people. The buzz of conversations was mixed with the laughter and sounds of music played live by bands of several people. In the end, they were so hungry that they decided to enter the first hotel that stood in their way. It so happened that this hotel was the 'Gritti Palace Hotel' one of the most expensive and most exquisite in all of Venice. As soon as they came to the entrance, someone from the staff approached them. They were not surprised when it turned out that all the places in the restaurant were occupied.

"Let's go look for another restaurant," John suggested.

"Wait a moment. I'll handle it." Sherlock pulled something out of his pocket and showed the man they had talked to a moment ago. At the sight of a small card, the man smiled and pointed to the entrance to the outside part of the restaurant. They followed him, passing an elegant hall on the way, talking guests and waiters who were maneuvering between tables. As it turned out, there was a place for them, which even not surprised John. They sat at a square table between other guests who did not pay attention to them. They were sitting on a large terrace surrounded by the rippling water. An orchestra consisting of only men in their thirties played on the platform. The night was pleasantly warm, and the illuminated architecture relics on the other side of the canal gave the night more charm.

When they were alone, Mycroft turned nonchalantly to his brother. "When will you stop stealing my stuff, Sherlock?"

"When you learn to hide them properly," he muttered cheerfully with his nose stuck in the menu card.

Molly and John looked at them with amusement. For some reason, they liked to watch brothers banter.

"What shall we order?" she asked, reading the menu card.

"It depends how much money we have," John replied.

"Please, don't worry about that. I'll pay." Mycroft did not look up from the card, so he could not see the look his smiling brother gave him.

But John immediately realized what he intended. "No, Sherlock. No seafood and other expensive things you won't eat anyway," he said with a raised finger. He tried to remain serious, but all the time he felt the amusement and strong wine he had at Coletti's.

"Then pizza maybe?" Molly suggested. "I heard, it taste really good only in Italy." She looked at Sherlock and John, who nodded without saying a word. They were really hungry, so they didn't want to discuss it. Only Mycroft refrained from commenting and chose a more elegant dish that suited to the man in his position. It turned out that all dishes were prepared on a regular basis, so the waiting time was as impressive as the prices. However, this did not disturb the mood, because to improve it the waiters offered them several types of wine. Of course, Mycroft was the one who chose because he loved wine and knew which one he should choose.

"Hmm. Valpolicella" he muttered contentedly, gently swaying the glass. "An excellent year". The strong taste of red wine suited the late hour and circumstances. "Leave the bottle, please," he said in Italian to the elegant waiter who was waiting for his reaction.

"And bring one more," Sherlock said.

"Or two," John added.

Mycroft looked at them but nodded towards the waiter. He should expect the last evening in Venice to cost him dearly, especially since he wasn't alone. He rarely allowed himself such expenses, but in the current situation, he did not want to behave differently. Soon, the waiting time for meals was enhanced by three bottles of expensive wine and the pleasant sounds of mandolin accompanying a pair of violins. John had to admit that Mycroft had a taste. The heavy and very intense taste of Valpolicella cheered the mood up after the first sip. He knew that the last night in Venice was to be a pleasant experience for them, which was facilitated by the amount of alcohol in each glass. So he enjoyed every slurp, drawing Sherlock's attention at some point.

"Mycroft, what have you done to John?" he asked with a frown and a slight amusement.

"What do you mean?". Mycroft took a sip of strong wine and looked at his brother. Later his eyes fell on equally surprised John who was holding a glass in his hand. He realized what surprised Sherlock so much. "Are you so surprised that John is used to elegant behavior?" he asked and made John look at his hand and the way he held the glass and how he sat. "He learned a lot in these two weeks," he added with a slight pride in his voice.

"He learned how to pretend to be an idiot." Sherlock shook his head.

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft asked sincerely surprised.

"In the world of your goldfish, everyone looks as if mere existence is a punishment for them," he said and demonstrated the faces John recognized perfectly represented what he had seen in fourteen days. "Alcohol disgusts. Food doesn't taste good," the younger genius continued. "If you touch something that ordinary people have touched before, use two fingers at most to hold it."

Mycroft listened with a raised eyebrow. "You exaggerate, as usual. Nobody behaves like this among us."

"Look, it's a cat!" Molly hoped to stop the strange conversation. She leaned over the armrest and reached out.

They looked at her and then at the red cat. The cat rubbed against her leg with a happy face and tail raised high. The cat bent and flexed, and finally jumped on Molly's lap and purred, thrusting claws into her thighs.

"So cute! And so fluffy" Molly was delighted with the new companion. She scratched the red cat's neck and ears. "Are you hungry?" she asked, looking the cat straight in the eye.

"Molly, can't you see how fat this cat is?" Sherlock asked. "It's probably the tourists' fault," he muttered.

"Do you think he has an owner?"

"Oh, without a doubt." Sherlock leaned slightly toward Molly to look at the cat. "His owner gives him a lot of freedom and I let him wander around the city."

"How can you be sure that this cat belongs to someone?" John cut in. "There are traces of the collar, but he is not wearing it now."

Sherlock kept his eyes on his friend. "The cat, that Molly will probably choke in any moment, had an owner before, but the woman who looks after him now ..."

"The cat had two owners, Sherlock" Mycroft corrected him. He didn't seem interested in a cat or anyone else. He focused on the wine he enjoyed that evening. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he didn't complain about it.

Sherlock looked at the cat in a way that did not show how intrigued he was by his brother's comment. He saw that the cat did indeed have two traces of collars. One thinner than the other. "You have a better place to observe," he muttered indifferently. This was not true because the animal was facing him and was sitting much closer to him. As he had expected, Mycroft didn't point it out to him, he didn't even look like someone who wanted to discuss. "The question now is whether the current owner loves him or this cat is a burden to her, as for the previous two people. I bet the first option is the right one."

"Why such a conclusion?" Mycroft asked. He turned his attention away from the almost empty glass and looked carefully at his brother.

"Do you have a different opinion? Do you think that if she allows him to walk around the city alone, and at the same time she does not care if someone confuses this cat with a homeless creature, then she does not care about him? In your opinion, if the owner gives him so much freedom, she doesn't love him? " Sherlock studied Mycroft closely with slightly narrowed eyes. "Maybe it's the opposite? Maybe she loves him too much, that's why she gives him so much freedom and allows him to be independent."

Mycroft shifted in his chair. "People tend to worry if their property is not properly marked. They are afraid of losing it, so they try to prevent it."

"Some people think that putting something on another being is the ultimate proof that it is their property. It's selfish and means disrespect in my opinion."

"Do you make an equal sign between disrespect and pain after loss?" Mycroft asked and raised one eyebrow.

For some reason, John knew that the conversation wasn't just about collar or ownership. He nervously turned the ring he still had on his finger. "Alright, that's enough" he interrupted their discussion. "What else do you know about this woman, Sherlock?"

Younger Holmes ignored his brother's intense gaze and focused on further deduction. "The owner is either an activist or an elderly woman with a weakness for old cats," he continued. "She cares for him, you can see it in the combed fur and clean ears of the cat. He is used to caressing and even demands it." He looked at the red cat that cuddled more and more into Molly's hands and dug deeper into her dress. "Spoiled, little kitty." He grabbed the cat gently at the face with two fingers and gently shook it sideways. "This is not the only animal in her home. She lives with her family in the south of the city near the main canal. On the second floor I think," he said proudly. He leaned back in his chair and looked at his brother first, then at John. If he had to, he could easily show how he deduced all these things. The color of the faded fur that the cat had on one side, indicating that he liked to take a nap high on the windowsill with a view of the water. That his fur was mixed with the fur of other animals, and this was caused because the owner used one brush to comb all her pets. Or the fact that the cat avoided the company of young children, which he certainly simply had had enough of. If he had to, he would dispel doubts. However, this was not necessary. John and Molly looked at him in silence and with admiration. "The owner is an older woman," he added with satisfaction.

"Everything you said was correct. However, you made a mistake in the most important things," Mycroft's calm voice caught their attention. He set the glass down without hurry as if celebrating his brother's little mistake and enjoying his superiority, which he was about to prove in a moment. "The owner is a left-handed animal rights activist," he said indifferently. "She is a far-sighter and she prefers lenses instead of glasses. The barely visible spots on the fur of the cat that you thought are left behind by the children's paint, is actually hair dye. She has a fiancee, she likes cartoon characters, but she doesn't like Venice. She would prefer to move to a larger city. I think she prefers Paris, "he fell silent. He looked at the doctor as if to convince himself that he had made the same impression on him as his brother had just a few moments ago. Sherlock looked at him with narrowed eyes. John and Molly were silent with a slightly open mouth, and the cat constantly asked for attention, standing on two paws and cuddling his head in the girl's chin.

John took a breath. He wanted to know how the older genius came to such conclusions. "How..." he said, but the young girl's voice interrupted him.

"Rossiccio!" Everyone looked at her. She stood a little further behind the barriers separating the hotel terrace from the street. She walked toward them, and the red cat jumped off Molly's lap and ran to her. With each step she took, the surprise on John's face increased. Finally, she came close enough that he saw all the details that confirmed Mycroft's words. The girl had green hair, a T-shirt with Mickey Mouse and a large badge with the inscription 'I love Paris'. He didn't notice other things, because she quickly bent down for a red cat, picked him up and entered the crowd of tourists. Once again he stared at Mycroft, who this time pretended not to pay attention to the admiration he had been given by the others.

Sherlock reached for his glass without a word. For a long time, they heard only the quiet sounds of music and conversations of other hotel guests. "You saw her before," he said nonchalantly. There was no irritation in his voice, but surprise and amusement.

"She passed us some time ago, not far from the theater," Mycroft responded casually. After a few seconds of silence, Sherlock laughed softly, just like John and Molly. General amusement did not bother the other guests who were busy talking and watching other couples dancing on the dance floor.

"I'll go wash my hands," Molly said. She was smiling. She pushed back a chair and entered the hotel.

John, who until now shook his head in amusement, now rubbed his face and took the glass of red Valpolicella offered to him by Sherlock. He could feel the eyes of both brothers. He was not accustomed to such attention and did not know how he would behave if this kind of observation was to last longer. He decided to break the silence and force them to change their direction of thought. "What was it with Stoner's phone?" he asked, staring at Mycroft.

Elder Holmes drank some wine. "My assistant sent him a virus by message. He wasn't a dangerous opponent."

"Virus? By text? For God's sake, now I'll think twice before reading a message from you or some unknown numbers." He ignored Mycroft's gaze. "And by the way, tell me ..." he said and lowered his voice, leaning slightly toward him. "What decision would you make if Anthea ..."

Mycroft frowned hearing that name. He did not know that in John's belief his assistant was called that. He remained silent and focused on the doctor.

"...didn't send him this virus and if Stoner still had the photo? What would you choose then?"

Mycroft was silent, as was Sherlock. Except that the younger genius did not take his eyes off his brother, who lowered his head slightly. John's gaze didn't let him avoid the subject. He was about to take a breath and say something, but fortunately, at that moment the waiter decided to put the ordered dishes on the table. Two large pizzas and one small dish with pasta and something else. Molly also returned to the table, so it wasn't a good time to continue the conversation. They all focused on food. The hot pizza disappeared from the plates in no time. When they satisfied their hunger, they started to enjoy a second pizza. They talked about trivial topics. About new investigations that John missed when he went to Venice, and about the quirks of Mrs. Hudson. They also discussed the topic of new research, which, according to the latest forecasts, was supposed to help identify thyroid faster. John and Molly were the most active in this matter. They decided to let go of politics, as did the sensitive topic of the feigned marriage of John and Mycroft and their stay in Venice. After some time, when the waiter unscrewed the last bottle, the discussion returned to pleasant and non-confronting topics.

John noticed that Mycroft had been sitting quietly for some time and tried not to look at the last pieces of pizza. The dish he ordered, he ate long ago and only drank wine that marked his influence on his face more and more. Sherlock discussed something unimportant with Molly and paid no attention to anything. John studied Mycroft. He wanted to shake his head, but instead, he leaned over the table, took a piece of pizza and put it on the plate of an older genius. Mycroft frowned but said nothing. John noticed and liked the fact that he never commented on the strange behavior of someone in the company of others. He accepted without a word what was happening around with unchanged expression and calmness. He let things be put on his documents and laptop. He didn't react when someone moved it or treated it like air. That's why John wasn't surprised when Mycroft didn't react to his gesture. He had to put his plate under his nose to provoke some reaction.

"What is it, John?" he asked what caught his brother's and Molly's attention. He leaned away from the offered plate as if the view was disgusting.

"Mycroft ..." John gave him a pitying look. "... eat something more. You can't be satisfied with this small amount of pasta." He looked into the eyes of the older genius and slightly waved the pizza in front of his nose. He ignored his face, which expressed disgust at what lay on the plate. He was aware that this type of meal was not a very common dish in Mycroft's kitchen and that he considered it not elegant enough. However, he was convinced that at the moment his stomach needed a bit more food. "Please," he added, which eventually softened Mycroft's face.

He straightened up in his chair, sighed quietly, but took the plate from John's hand. "Thank you". The plate was cold, as was the slice of pizza, but the place John was holding between his fingers burned with fire. Of course, in Mycroft's opinion. He told himself that these were hallucinations caused by alcohol. He avoided the doctor's eyes. The pizza was cold on the sides, yet crispy. He didn't mind that he had filled his stomach with something other than alcohol. All this time he was not aware of Sherlock's eyesight, who stopped paying attention to Molly and focused completely on him.

"When you offered John this ridiculous deal, I was afraid you would have too much negative influence on him," he said, drawing the attention of his brother who had deliberately avoided his eyes. "But as I see, I was worried unnecessarily, because it's completely the opposite." He set the glass to his lips, which were widened in a smile. "Congratulations, John," he said with sincere amusement and a nod. "I have not seen Mycroft in such an informal appearance for a long time." He looked at him closely. "Such relaxed" he added after a moment of reflection.

Mycroft was aware of his looks and sooner or later expected Sherlock to point out his appearance. He even had a prepared reply but he gave it up. Even in his eyes, he looked unusual and if not for the passion with which John tried to make him look like ordinary people, he would have long returned to the apartment. At that moment, in the hotel, he liked that John was so close, so he allowed him to interfere with his looks. He trembled as the doctor pulled off his vest and rolled up his sleeves. He barely controlled himself when he untied his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He was terrified to find that he would have allowed him more if John had wanted it. He shook his head invisibly. Where did these thoughts come from? Was he really so drunk that he couldn't control his thoughts? He did not want to look like a person who receives biting comments about himself without reaction. The more that it was Sherlock who said that. "Do I look relaxed enough?" He asked. He sat back and crossed his legs in elegant, slow motion. He grabbed a glass of wine, then looked at his brother with a smirk. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John's smile, which he knew did not mean anything good for him.

"Almost". The doctor leaned over the table, pulled a flower from a small glass vase and broke it in half. Later, he wiped the stalk of the rest of the water and put a flower behind Mycroft's ear. His gesture made Sherlock laugh softly. "You are one of us now." He was happy when Mycroft smiled back. Maybe it was a bit of a forced smile, but what mattered was that he wasn't angry or grumpy. They were all in a good mood. The brothers did not argue or annoy each other with unpleasant comments. They teased each other, yes, but their little rivalry made them feel better. The wine was buzzing in their heads, which gave them the impression that they could afford more. The passing motorboats drowned out the playing orchestra and conversations from the neighboring tables, but that did not stop them from enjoying their last night in Venice.

At one point, one of the band members played a melody that revived Molly. "I know this song," she said, straightening up in a chair. "This was my dad's favorite" her words were not heard or ignored by the Holmes brothers because none responded. They had a discussion with John on a topic related to Scotland Yard.

However, the doctor heard the girl's soft voice. He looked at her and focused his attention on the melody for a moment. "I think Santa Lucia," he said, and she nodded. He remembered how he felt the day before when he was completely ignored by his friend. He wanted to spare Molly the same feeling, so he decided to devote some time to her. He knew that if he didn't do it, nobody would. He got up from the table, catching the eyes of both Sherlock and Mycroft. He reached out to Molly and went with her to the dance floor to join the other dancing couples.

John's figure, his silver hair, and smile. All these advantages attracted Sherlock's eye. It has always been this way, although John did not realize it and did not see how much he was attracting his attention. Sherlock watched his friend's movements with real pleasure. How he swayed and led Molly in the dance. His appearance was much more than pleasing to the eye, which is why the younger brother Holmes did not take his eyes off him. He smiled at the steps he had personally taught John. He knew when he would turn when he would let Molly slip between his arms. He had seen it all before through the eyes of his imagination, and yet the sight of dancing John gave him so much pleasure that he couldn't look away. He did this only after the start of the second song. He turned his head and saw that Mycroft was silent drinking wine and watching John with a similar passion in his eyes.

"I should thank you," he said. He sat down in Molly's chair and, together with his older brother, focused on people dancing a few feet away.

Mycroft sighed. He sat nonchalantly with crossed legs, a glass in his hand and a flower behind his left ear. "Sherlock, are you sure you know what you are doing?"

"I don't know," he shook his head. "And that's what this is about, right?" he asked, looking at Mycroft for a second. "That's how they describe it in these funny guides and books for single women seeking love. That people in this situation don't know what they are doing. That they lose their mind completely. They are lost in thoughts, irritated by their weaknesses and shortcomings, although they have not experienced this before. At least not to the extent. " At that moment, the wine he was sipping seemed oddly sour. Instead of putting down his glass, he reached for the bottle and poured himself some alcohol. "Interesting feeling" he added when he returned to the previous position. "I wish we had tried it earlier."

"Earlier, brother mine, there was no person worth such a feeling." He could feel Sherlock's elbow next to him, whose heat contrasted strangely with the dimple he felt in his stomach. "Besides, we had other priorities from the beginning." Suddenly he felt strangely sentimental. Maybe because of the alcohol in his body. Maybe because of the sight of John dancing and smiling. Or maybe it was Sherlock's fault, which he rarely had a chance to talk so honestly. He turned his head and looked at his brother. "I care about you and your happiness. You know that, don't you?"

Sherlock rubbed his face with his free hand. "Again? Mycroft, this sentiment doesn't suit you. Are you sure this wine was properly fermented?"

"Stop it, I'm serious" he narrowed his eyes. Suddenly the view in front of him was more interesting than a slight irritation on Sherlock's face. For a long time, he wondered where all this was going. He got used to this way of life. He accepted it and learned to cooperate with others. He saw that Sherlock was also doing well, thanks to John and his help. He was fighting with his thoughts while slurping wine. "It's time to take care of yourself," he muttered quietly. "And don't look at others."

Sherlock looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye. He heard his voice but didn't know how to interpret his words. Was he talking about himself or him? Mycroft was in such a state that it was impossible to deduce. "I heard that what happened in Venice stays in Venice," he said, changing the subject.

"Where have you read this nonsense?" Mycroft asked with undisguised surprise.

"In Molly's magazines. She brought more of these with her than hair bands."

This time Mycroft gave his brother a meaningful look. "Do you really read such rubbish?"

"I must," he sighed. "To make up for what I have thrown out of my mind, and John considers it important. I noticed that he appreciates your knowledge and insight in many areas."

If it wasn't for the nervous movement under the table, revealing a slight irritation of Sherlock with his words, Mycroft would be fooled by the compliment. "You envy me?" he asked with raised eyebrow and surprise.

Sherlock snorted.

"It's nothing wrong, brother. After all, man learns all his life. Better to learn from the wiser ones."

"Do you think you are smarter?" he asked immediately.

"Of course I am," Mycroft said as if this were the most obvious thing.

Sherlock winced and made a sound of doubt.

"I am," he repeated emphatically.

Sherlock didn't look like someone who wanted to prove his point at all costs, which meant that Mycroft could relax. They started to look at John again. He was smiling, lost in what he was doing. It was also partly due to the wine they drank over two bottles. It was dark - except for the lights above the terrace and the lamps that lit the buildings - and yet John's pink cheeks and his smile stood out from the amused crowd.

"Aren't you afraid?" Sherlock asked suddenly, breaking the silence and pulling Mycroft's thoughts away from a pleasant view.

"I'm terrified," he answered without hesitating. The glass in his hand became strangely warm, which did not stop him from enjoying the tart taste of wine. "But as you said, what happens in Venice stays in Venice." The smile on his face became less and less visible. All because he once again looked at his brother's best friend. For the reason that the last two weeks had been an emotional roller coaster for him. "If it was only that easy." His soft voice caught Sherlock's attention. He wasn't going to show that he was going through a mood swirl that he couldn't understand at the moment. He smiled quickly, raised his glass, and touched it against the bottom of Sherlock's glass. "To our water castles". He didn't get the answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the consternation on his brother's face, but he pretended that everything was all right. "It means that our plans have little chance of success."

"I know. I understood it the first time," he murmured.

Mycroft smiled into the glass. "Of course you did." The ironic tone did not disturb the peace and pleasant moment.

Nice music changed its sound from time to time. Sometimes, something more lively and rhythmic occurred among the melancholic sounds. However, due to the late time, calmer melodies prevailed. With each passing moment, customers began to leave the restaurant. Tourists were returning to hotels, and the staff was finishing their last orders, which was only alcohol. The chef and his helpers finished work after one in the morning. Only the most determined customers remained on the dance floor and at the tables. When it was only about an hour until dawn, Mycroft, his brother, John, and Molly decided to leave the restaurant. Return to the hotel and a possible nap no longer made sense. According to the plan, they should sign out at six in the morning, and they had less than two hours. They decided to sleep on the plane on the way back to London. They wanted to spend their last moments walking around the city. The crowd disappeared from the streets. Only couples and wobbly gentlemen - who could not find their way back to the hotel - were hanging around the alleys. A barefoot woman slipped off the bridge, laughing and waving her shoes in her hands. They passed a man who gathered the chairs together, and young girls sleeping in a cool alley with dresses pulled up almost to the hips. They walked along the banks of the canal, breathing in the smell of water. Molly managed to get a portion of ice cream that John had bought for her from a tired and annoyed salesman. The sky was slowly changing color. From deep black to slightly less dark navy blue. The area was known for a beautiful view of the rising sun, so they stopped and sat on a low bridge. As usual, John took the place next to his friend. Molly couldn't imagine sitting next to an older genius, so she sat down next to Sherlock's shoulder. And Mycroft could not imagine sitting on a cold stone bridge. He informed the rest of the company about it, but gave up at their urging and sat reluctantly beside John.

There was no living soul in the area. If, however, someone were there, they would see four people sitting on the bridge overlooking the main canal, and a beautiful sunrise. Molly slowly ate melting ice cream. She licked her wrist from time to time and waved her legs like a little girl. Sherlock sat nonchalantly. He explained something to John with a smile. He brushed his hair back from his forehead and spoke all the time. The doctor sat with his arms crossed and listened to his friend with amusement. He followed the things pointed out by the younger genius. He was cooling his legs over the water flowing below. Mycroft, however, did not look like usual. He had an unbuttoned shirt, rolled up sleeves and a flower behind his ear, and his face was flushed. It was obvious he wasn't too sober although he didn't show it. He put his left hand on cool stones behind him. In this way, he tried to keep balance and relieve his spine a little. He rubbed his tired face with his other hand.

The sunrise was more and more beautiful. Along with the brightening sky on the promenade, there were more and more people wanting to capture a beautiful view. They stood in the distance with their phones in their hands. They did not disturb each other, they looked as if they did not pay attention to the surroundings at all. The sun was slowly starting to appear above the horizon, and the sky was a warm pink-orange shade.

"It's so wonderful." Molly narrowed her eyes slightly as the wind blew her face.

"I can take a photo of you if you like," John suggested, and she gladly agreed. She gave him her phone, got up and went down to the lower platform at one of the banks. She turned and smiled.

"This is the most beautiful trip I've ever been to," she said as she sat down next to Sherlock again and started looking at her photos, which John took several. She was very happy with them. She was in a great mood. She straightened her arms above her head. "If my other friends could only see me now," she sighed.

Mycroft, who was now sitting with his elbows on his knees, looked at his reflection in the water flowing under their feet. "And I hope mine never finds out." He didn't even have time to raise his head when something flashed to his right. He looked sideways and saw Sherlock taking a photo of him with a smirk.

"I will print it ... or better. I will send this photo to all goldfish from your aquarium," he said pleased.

Mycroft's face said a lot. He looked at his brother with pursed lips, dilated nostrils and furious gaze. He leaned over John, grabbed Sherlock's phone and began to wrestle with him. John had to lean back so as not to get hit by the fighting brothers. He rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. Yes. It was perfect proof of gentlemen's behavior. The day before, he was made informed that elegant men in a serious position do not use force to get or receive anything. Now he had perfect proof in front of him.

"Give it back," Mycroft growled, holding the phone with both hands.

"No!" Sherlock did not give up. "Mycroft, what are you doing ?! Let go!"

"Give me that back, I say".

The pressure on the phone was too great. It slipped from the hands of the brothers and fell into the water with a splash.

"Well done". John nodded slowly. He had to admit that the view from a moment ago was pitiable, but amused him a little. "The perfect end to a charming trip. It was probably a sign that it's time to go back."

"I fully agree with you" Mycroft stood up and patted his trousers several times to get rid of the dirt. "A lost phone, self-respect," he pulled a flower from behind his ear, "and lost time. We should go back to the hotel."

They started to go back to the hotel. More and more people began to gather near the canal and on the promenade. They were most interested in the beautiful sunrise, which could be observed at this early hour on the banks of the canal. The light was so intense that it hurt the eyes. However, this did not bother admiring the nature and architecture of the old town. When Mycroft, John, Sherlock, and Molly approached the 'Danieli' hotel they saw a small crowd. The hotel staff was carrying suitcases to the motorboat. As it turned out, it wasn't just John and Mycroft's suitcases. The older genius explained to them that before they set off on their last walk, he gave the order to pack things from the next room too. He instructed John to wait with the Molly in a motorboat and went with his brother to the hotel, where he had to sign some documents. A few minutes later, the four of them were sailing towards the airport in the land part of the city. The white boat bounced on the waves, and the rising sun gave an unforgettable view. John looked at the city to the end of the journey, where he had one of the most unforgettable experiences in his life. He looked with sentiment at the shapes of towers and buildings. All this time he played with the ring on his finger, although he had no idea that he was being closely watched by the Holmes brothers. He wondered if anything would change when he returned to London. Will he look at recent events from a different perspective and find that he made a mistake when he agreed to Mycroft's offer? He hoped, however, that his decisions would not harm his relationship with Sherlock nor Mycroft.

If only he sat down. If only he had the courage and looked away. If he had not been so lost in his thoughts and forgot for a moment about what was ending, he would have noticed the intensity with which Mycroft looked at him and the longing in Sherlock's eyes. If only he looked back, he would understand how much he meant to Holmes brothers, and especially to one of them.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Click to choose your own ending

[Johncroft](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872167/chapters/55572808) [Johnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872167/chapters/55572745#workskin)

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

[Ugh! I can't decide. Give me both of them! (optional)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872167/chapters/69762660)


	22. Chapter 22

JOHNLOCK

  
Sherlock was patient. It was one of those traits that he had developed since he was a child and which proved to be useful on a daily basis and in most of the matters he dealt with. He was patient when the situation demanded. He was patient when he was sure it would benefit him. Now, however, he was afraid that this trait would damage his plan rather than help him achieve his goal. It's been four days since they returned home. He knew John better than anyone else, so he avoided topics that could in any way lead them to talk about love, relationships, and the last two weeks. Although it was very difficult for him, he did not press John, he did not try to approach him or give a signal that would confuse him. He wanted to allow him to think and make the right decision. It was true that he continued to watch him. He still desired his touch. However, he restrained himself and remained moderate and patient, although it was getting harder day by day. He wanted John to consciously and courageously open his heart to him, and choose to live by his side as a partner and beloved one, and that this decision would not be taken in a fit of moment or impulse that could change his way of thinking in the future.

On the first day, John was happy. This was of course due to their return home and the possibility of hugging Mrs. Hudson. He was so excited about his stories that he sat with their landlady until late at night. Sherlock tried to interrupt their discussions about Venice, the romantic meaning of this city and recent events, several times, but Mrs. Hudson did not let him do that. She was very happy to have John next to her. She brewed tea all the time and sent Sherlock upstairs several times when he went down the stairs to the kitchen and when he let her know with a displeased face that he wishes to be with John alone. His friend also didn't seem eager to end the discussion, as if the opportunity to spend time with Mrs. Hudson was the only way to avoid his company and not think about the consequences of his last decisions. Sherlock gave up after one of the attempts and eventually returned to the bed, which for some reason seemed strangely empty to him. This was because he had long dreamed of his relationship with John. Every day he dreamed of waking up at his side. And now his dreams were almost tangible and close to realization.

On the second day, John was silent. He walked around the apartment without saying a word or sat in his chair and thought. He answered in single words and frowned whenever he had to answer in a long sentence. His bags were still unpacked and stood in the corner of the living room and on the stairs to the upper floor. It wouldn't bother Sherlock if it wasn't for a specific reason. He knew that if Mycroft did not confuse John's thoughts, his feelings would not be so unstable. He didn't like it, but he said nothing. He kept his decision to give John as much time as he needed. Even Mrs. Hudson, who always came to their living room, finally understood the allusion and glance that the genius was sending to her and she stopped coming upstairs. Sherlock watched John very closely. He wanted to know what he was thinking at all costs. He wanted to know about his feelings and what decisions prevail in his mind at a specific hour. He wanted to believe that after so many years he was able to accurately understand and predict the behavior of his friend, so he waited patiently. That evening their eyes finally met. It wasn't a glimpse. It reminded one of those looks when they had looked at each other on several occasions in Venice as they walked alone along the dark streets just before the attempt of the first kiss. They sat facing each other, listening to the quiet sounds of the TV. The tea on the table had cooled down, and the noise from behind the window had died down, indicating that most of the neighbors were sleeping. Sherlock missed his friend's wise and precious eyes, but he couldn't enjoy them for too long. John smiled gently. Nice. Tenderly. He blinked slowly and put his hand on Sherlock's knee. Sherlock's stomach did something weird at that moment. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, quite the opposite. He felt a shiver and warmth going down his back. He expected that the time had finally come. The moment he was waiting for. He was wrong. John squeezed his knee and went to his room, wishing him a good night. Sherlock, despite the shock and disappointment, was comforted that everything was finally going in the right direction and with that thought, he fell asleep in his unpleasant empty bed.

The third day brought a visible change in John's behavior. He was smiling, talkative from the early morning. The bags were still standing unpacked, but John returned to his old habits and sometimes made ironic comments in the discussion, which Sherlock enjoyed very much. He even managed to write a short update on his blog. He wrote quickly with a smile. After an hour, he deleted the text, but he still had a good mood. So good that Sherlock seriously considered changing into an elegant outfit and starting a serious conversation with him. He gave up this idea almost immediately. He didn't want to remind his brother. Mycroft was a perfectionist and pedant. He didn't want John to see him as a reflection of the elegant but stiff Mycroft. He wanted normality and wanted to take his friend's thoughts away from recent events. To remind him that the normality he needed so much, a sense of intimacy and acceptance was right in front of him. Not among the high-ranking personalities of this world before whom he had to pretend to be someone he was not. He wanted to show him his place was here. At Baker Street. In a dusty apartment, away from prying eyes and artificiality. Sherlock wanted normality at his side to be what John needed most. Because of this, he spent most of the day wearing pajamas, smiling when John gave him an amused look. Despite the perfect atmosphere, he did not decide to bring the topic that had been bothering him for so many days. Because what would he tell him? What to ask about? How to start a conversation? Should he grab his hands, look deep into his eyes, and kiss him? Would he press him against the wall and say "I love you"? The feelings he had for his friend were obvious to him. He wanted them to be obvious to John too. But he couldn't do it. Those two simple words... He couldn't imagine saying it with his own mouth. Not because he was disgusted by it. He was afraid of what would happen a few moments after he said it. He had never opened up to anyone like that before. He knew that if such a moment came, he would feel exposed, helpless. There would be no way out or the possibility of retreat. But he still wanted to shout these two words in John's face. He wanted to whisper these words in his mouth and then taste him. He set out to Venice with the intention of getting John back and making him fall in love with him for good, but now that he has everything in front of him, he realizes that he didn't have anything under his control. Neither the deeds of his friend nor his own feelings and behavior. That's why he was waiting for John, for his action. He was waiting for him to give him a sign that he wanted it. He thought about what he should do and when to act for so long that the day was over, as was the perfect opportunity to get what he had longed for.

On the fourth day, John was acting like two days ago. Only this time it was worse. He was silent from the very morning. He was playing with the wedding ring, which, to Sherlock's great anger and irritation, he still had on his finger. He thought deeply and walked around the living room. Even Mrs. Hudson didn't bother them, she just bustled in her kitchen. John pretended that nothing was happening, although he probably did not believe that his words and assurances could convince anyone. He walked silently from the kitchen to the living room, not touching the breakfast or newspaper he read every morning. He's deciding, Sherlock thought. He watched his friend closely but didn't say a word. This depressing mood lasted until late morning. Genius sat in an armchair with his fingers joined under his chin and pretended to be thinking about something. He opened his eyes slightly and watched him when John wasn't looking. At one point, the doctor finally slowly approached him. He clenched his fists nervously. He sat down in the red chair, cleared his throat, wanting to attract his attention. He did not realize that from the beginning of the day his every move was closely watched and interpreted by his friend.

"Sherlock, listen ..."

Genius tensed his body. He did not expect such words as the beginning of the conversation. For a moment he felt his heart stop beating in his chest, but when he looked into John's eyes he relaxed his muscles. There was a slight concern in his eyes, but there was no sign of pain or fear. So it was not about rejection, but rather about taking action. About a hard task, he had to do. John was mentally preparing to meet with Mycroft.

"Yes, John? What's the matter?" he asked, focusing all his attention on him. He gave him a warm look and a gentle smile to improve his mood a little.

John sighed and quickly rubbed his eyelids with his fingers. "It's been several days since our return, but I haven't done one thing yet. I have to ..."

"Go and return Mycroft a wedding ring," Sherlock interrupted him, nodding at the gold object at his friend's finger.

John winced slightly. "That too," he said after a moment. "But mostly I meant that I had to talk to him."

This time Sherlock grimaced and frowned. Why would John choose to meet his brother, if not just to give him the subject of the contract? What would they talk about? Their arrangement concerned only two weeks, during which a lot of things happened, but it was still only a fixed-term contract. He would gladly take the wedding ring to Mycroft himself and end this ridiculous arrangement. He had to admit, though, that thankful words were on his lips. After all, if it wasn't for all the fun with a fake marriage, he doubted he would have the courage to finally take matters into his own hands. On the other hand, he could have expected it. John has always finished unsolved issues and matters, so why should it be different in this case? He didn't like it, but he didn't want to put his friend in a bad mood. There was no point in arguing or making unnecessary discussions.

"Then I'll come with you," he suggested. The last thing he could allow was a long conversation between John and Mycroft alone in the small room. The mere thought of leaving his friend in this situation was unacceptable. Not to mention his brother, who could take advantage of this opportunity. He saw the looks Mycroft gave John. He saw Mycroft's face change when John was around, though he tried to hide it at all costs. He was afraid that the chance he had before him would slip between his fingers. He wanted John for himself. He never thought he would be afraid of losing him because of Mycroft. The thought of it caused unnatural behavior and thoughts that had never crossed his mind before. Before he knew what he was doing, he was already holding John's hand in his grip and staring at him. He must have looked unnatural, but he didn't care. With John, he didn't have to pretend or hide anything. He was desperate and diffident, but his friend's smile calmed him down a bit.

"Please, let me do it myself," he said. He got up from his chair and put his other hand on Sherlock's fingers. It was warm and the touch was emotional and tender. "I promise I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Then you wouldn't even have to get out of the taxi," he sighed and slowly and reluctantly released John's hand and sank comfortably into the armchair.

"Should I throw a wedding ring through a half-open window and wave goodbye?" John asked, slightly raising his eyebrows in amusement.

Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing would happen to him if he had to bend down a little," he said casually. He allowed himself for long eye contact with his best friend. Much significant because he didn't hide anything anymore. He didn't hide behind indifference or insensitivity. He wanted John to know that he could show affection. He didn't hide it from him since the arrival in Venice, although he was more desperate there to get his attention and quickly show that he should focus his feelings on him. Now he had time to work on his relationship with John in peace at Baker Street.

"Don't drag it on." He looked at John with gentle but pleading eyes. He was calmer. He reluctantly let his friend go alone, but he felt he should do just that. John's warm smile calmed him down again that day. When the soft click of the door closed in the hall, Sherlock decided to speed up the waiting time for his return. He could deal with any unfinished experience or study an article that interested him. He could also wander around the flat aimlessly and count down the minutes to John's return. However, he knew that the best way to fight against time was to immerse himself in his thoughts. In the palace, where he kept all memories of John. Where emotions directly affected the picture he had at the moment. Yes. It was the best and most pleasant way to survive the upcoming hours. He wanted to have perfect conditions, so he covered all the windows in the living room, closed the door and stopped the waving paw of the cat of luck, which he had bought for John for Christmas a few years earlier. The toy often made strange noises. John explained that it broke and had to be thrown, but Sherlock did not agree. He kept the cat on the shelf on his side and did not allow it to be moved, even during cleaning, when Mrs. Hudson drove them out of the apartment and did not allow them to return until she cleared the dusty and cluttered living room.

Everything was ready. Sherlock sat back comfortably, straightened his legs, which he crossed at the ankles, and rested his head on connected fingers. He closed his eyes and plunged into his palace. Thoughts went straight to his favorite and largest room, which John occupied. The minutes passed slowly, but Sherlock didn't notice. He sat focused and thoughtful, rummaging through memories. During all these years there have been countless memories. Most often it was memories of their daily lives. Common meals, time spent talking or in complete silence. There were memories of criminal matters, trips and idle sitting in the living room, during which John dealt with reading the book, completely unaware that he was being watched by his friend. There were happy and funny memories, but also sad ones. Sherlock preferred not to touch the latter, although he realized that they were no less important than the other moments that he experienced with John and which connected them and made their relationship deeper. He returned to them many times when his relationship with John did not progress. He wondered where he had made a mistake and how he could avoid similar ones in the future. He did not want to be ideal, but he wanted to be a man John would be proud of and with whom he would like to have his future. Not only as a friend.

The emotions and feelings which he evoked in him from the very beginning were intense, wild and slightly unstable. However, he never denied or rejected them. What's more, he accepted them and slowly started to understand their meaning. He was afraid, of course. He almost always wanted to be like Mycroft. He wanted to cut himself off from the world and emotions and focus on what attracted him the most - on crime and criminals. But when John appeared in his life, he evoked feelings in him that he couldn't express at first. He was afraid because he did not understand them, he did not know them. At first, he was afraid of the very thought that his world order would change, that someone would mix up and change his priorities. He found out, however, that he could make an exception for John. Later he was afraid to make a gesture that would reveal how much he cared about him. In this way, he could expose him to danger, which at that time was Moriarty. He did not want his unconditional love to be a target for the psychopathic enemy. He was afraid when John was in danger and when he faced death himself. He was afraid when he thought that he would never see him again and that his love would never be accepted. He was afraid when he realized that he could lose him to Mycroft. Now he stopped being afraid.

The next emotions he knew, although they were not pleasant, were feelings of rejection and resignation. He was angry with himself for the pride and stubbornness he manifested at the beginning of their relationship. He regretted his behavior, coldness, and ignorance, which made John move away from him and at the very beginning gave up the idea to look at him as a potential partner. He knew where he had made the mistake, but he thought he had no choice but to accept John's rejection. He felt it when it seemed that his friend had found a partner of his life. He couldn't honestly enjoy his happiness, but he tried. He tried for John. He wanted happiness for him, even if he had to suffer because of it. Everything has changed. Now he did not want to give up and wanted to fight for him.

The biggest feeling that poured out of the room with the inscription 'John' was love. Love and what goes with it, devotion, passion, selflessness, care and all other feelings that Sherlock could describe in just one word. JOHN. He understood that he was able to love when John accepted him without hesitation and accepted him as he was. When he saved his life for the first time. He understood that he could be in love with him after a few months of living together. He understood that he loved him when he stood by him in every situation and believed when everyone turned away from him. When he was ready to die alone and later at his side in an empty pool. When he thought about him every second and when his absence turned out to be unbearable. He understood that he could give his life for his love when he stood on the edge of the building. When in the name of love he was able to devote himself not only to John but also to the woman with whom he was to spend the rest of his life. He understood that he could say these two words as he stood in front of John talking to him one last time at a cold airport. At that time he did not dare to do it. Now he was ready to confess it to his face, looking deep into his eyes and holding him in his arms. Everything has always been associated with John. All emotions increased when the situation in any way involved John. Sherlock knew why this was so and when he accepted this fact, he let himself be completely overwhelmed by the love he had for his best friend.

"... at's why I advised her to change her surroundings."

Sherlock opened his eyes slightly. He saw his landlady sitting happily in John's chair. She had to talk to him for some time, though he wasn't going to make an effort to look at his watch. He was a bit annoyed that she interrupted his thoughts about John, but what else could he expect? Mrs. Hudson always had a great sense of time and appeared when he wanted to be alone. He sighed softly and closed his eyes again.

"But you know how she is. Open to new things and progress, but she doesn't want to hear about leaving London. Even for a few days," Mrs. Hudson continued with a cheerful face. She didn't care at all about Sherlock's silence. "I told her so many times. My dear, look at my boys. They go and travel all the time. And they are so happy. The trips are very good for health, I tell her. You and John rarely get sick," she said.

Sherlock understood that he would no longer be able to focus on his thoughts. He crossed his legs and put his hands on the armrests. "You are right, Mrs. Hudson. In that case, maybe you can try to persuade Mrs. Turner to travel together? Our neighbor has been waiting for such a proposal for a long time," he said. He leaned sideways and grabbed the porcelain jug. He poured some tea into the cup and after a moment he found it cold, but he didn't mind. He guessed that he had to spend a long time thinking about John.

"You think so?" Mrs. Hudson wondered. "Hm. Maybe you are right. You know, she mentioned several times that she would rather not go alone." She fell silent and thought. "You and John travel a lot. What place would you suggest to the two of us?" she asked, staring intently at him.

"I recommend the village ..." he said decisively as if he was genuinely interested in the holidays of both landladies, "... or the other continent" the last part of the sentence he mumbled quietly to a cup held to his mouth. "For a few weeks ... it would be fabulous."

"I will do that," Mrs. Hudson said smiling, ignoring malicious comments. "I also need some rest. You two always come back so happy with the trips."

"These are not trips, Mrs. Hudson," he frowned as he set the half-empty cup on the table. Somehow he did not like this cold tea. "It is crimes that call us to different parts of the country. If I wanted to rest, I would take John to some warm and boring place."

"To Venice for example," she said, smiling from ear to ear. "John was so happy when he talked about his last trip. He is so happy, tanned, and his eyes glow more than usual. Did you notice that even his hair changed its color?" she asked and sighed. The sigh was full of sentiment. "But it's good to have both of you back," she added.

Sherlock nodded this time as a sign that he agreed with Mrs. Hudson. He also noticed the satisfaction on John's face. Apparently warm climate, sunny days and heat was a nice change from the capricious London weather. As for John's appearance ... Well. John has always been John to him. He liked it both at the beginning of their acquaintance and now after so many years together.

"And by the way," the landlady said, "you could offer him a trip to a similar place from time to time. You should take care of him, not expose him to danger. Running on dark streets doesn't seem like a good idea to spend time together, not to mention the dangers on every corner, "she said, tilting her head slightly. "In my opinion, you should sometimes take an example from your brother and provide John and yourself ..."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he interrupted her, irritated by the mention of Mycroft. "John will surely appreciate the efforts and care for our safety. Now take advantage of his absence and make a place in the drawer for the mask he brought for you as a gift. It has been hanging on the wall for four days, and that's already a record."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, but her smile never left her face. "You won't spoil my mood today, my dear."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said immediately. He froze for a moment when quick and steady steps sounded on the stairs. After the first few steps he guessed who was about to appear in the door, he closed his eyes again and leaned back comfortably on the back of the chair.

"John is back already? I thought it would take him longer." Mrs. Hudson briskly got up from her seat and headed into the kitchen with the intention of making a new portion of hot tea.

"It's Lestrade," Sherlock muttered, and of course he was right. The Scotland Yard inspector stood in the living room door. He was panting and slightly sweaty. He quickly greeted Mrs. Hudson, assured her that tea would be unnecessary, although he thanked her for the offer and sat down opposite Sherlock without wasting time. It took a split second to Sherlock to figure out why Greg appeared in his flat.

"I see the sun was warming you up. You are tanned," Greg said cheerfully with a white smile and glistening eyes. With his right hand, he slowly reached into his jacket pocket. "How was Venice?" he asked and pulled out a small notebook.

"Muggy, hot and crowded," the genius said quickly. "What is this about? Murder without the victim's body or the strange circumstances of the death? Ah, never mind. I don't have time for that anyway," he waved his hand and turned his head, indicating that he was not interested in the inspector's revelations.

"Don't worry about him today," Mrs. Hudson muttered, standing next to John's chair. She handed Greg a cup of tea, although he politely declined it earlier. He took it in surprise. He hoped for Sherlock's help, so he was surprised by this sudden refusal. He knew about the genius's moods, but after what he heard from Molly, he thought Sherlock would be in a better mood. "He's angry because John left him alone in the flat and went to talk to his brother," she added, making Sherlock wincing.

"Oh, I understand," Greg said, opening his eyes wide for a split second. "They are still ... like this", he looked at Mrs. Hudson and made an unclear and chaotic gesture with his hands.

Sherlock unintentionally hit his elbow on the back of the chair in a nervous tick, which of course caught the attention of Greg and Mrs. Hudson. He avoided their eyes and barely refrained from grinding his teeth. "Lestrade, if you came to gossip about the situation of John and Mycroft, I advise you to come tomorrow. Mrs. Hudson is going to tell about their warmed up relationship to everyone around anyway, so she will have time." He ignored the landlady's surprised and slightly offended look, who was already getting ready to answer the accusation.

Greg interrupted her. He cleared his throat and opened the notebook. "Today in the morning a body of a teenage girl was found in Lambeth. Nicole Hopkins. She was lying next to the door to the apartment she was renting with her cousin and her several-year-old son. She was stabbed several times, but we couldn't pinpoint how many exactly..."

Sherlock stopped listening. The investigation immediately seemed boring and unworthy of attention from Scotland Yard. This could interest and be a challenge for the suburban police station and ordinary policemen, whose only income was interest on parking tickets or fine for drinking alcohol under a 24-hour store. The district's name also influenced his indifference. Lambeth. He never liked it. Especially since John was almost stabbed there and run over by some drunken madman. Of course, Sherlock was proud when his friend easily overpowered both the madman with a knife and the one behind the wheel, catching him up on one of the corners and pulling the key out of the ignition. Nevertheless, he associated the Lambeth district badly. Instead of hearing more facts about the investigation, he preferred to focus on thinking about John. Although the inspector's constant talk disturbed him, he took advantage of his gift of double attention. He was thinking about John while looking at Greg. At one point, he saw him pull a pen out of his jacket pocket. It was definitely the same pen Molly had bought for him. Sherlock smiled slightly under his breath. Lestrade's case was ordinary and uninteresting. Scotland Yard usually solved such matters without problems in a few days, maybe a week. He realized that the reason for the inspector's presence was much simpler. Greg had a date with Molly tonight and wanted to settle the matter as soon as possible to prepare for the meeting. Sherlock did not intend to interfere in this, he had great hopes for tonight too and he had no intention to waste his time chasing after the killer. Since he was not able to be alone and make a plan for the evening with John, the best way out was to leave the apartment. Thanks to this, he could finally be alone and deal with several matters.

"... the neighbor heard strange noises at night and saw a man moving away from the place where the corpse was found, but she was not able to describe him to us" he finished quoting all the facts from his notebook. He was holding a pen in his hand. He wanted to write down what Sherlock was about to say.

Sherlock got up from the chair. He went to the door and, although it was warm outside, he grabbed the coat hanging on the door. "Boring," he said, passing the surprised inspector. "An ordinary murder, without imagination or robbery. Ideal for a warm summer's day." He hung the coat over his hand and put the other one on the doorknob.

"You won't help us?" Greg asked, turning towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Hudson asked with no less surprising.

"No, I won't help you. I'm going to buy a phone," he shouted from the hall. He returned, however, and looked at them. "I am convinced that the upcoming date will mobilize you to quickly resolve this investigation, Lestrade. After all, you are the Scotland Yard inspector," he added with a slight smile. "And for Molly, I suggest you buy daffodils instead of roses. Sometimes it's worth being original.

\---

It was one of the few warm days in London that surprised even the fussiest citizens of the capital. The air was really warm, the blue sky contrasted with the intense green of the trees, and the wind was pleasantly blowing in the hair instead of freezing faces. John wandered around the city for a long time, wondering how to talk to Mycroft. Where should he start and how to behave. He did not feel comfortable in such situations, but he had no choice. He had to meet him and discuss a few things with him. He gathered enough courage after two hours of aimless wandering around the streets. He got into the taxi and a dozen or so minutes later he was standing under a tall, white building elegantly decorated with columns. He expected that it would be difficult for him to communicate in sign language with the man sitting in the corridor, but the elderly gentleman unexpectedly got up from behind the counter and showed him the stairs down the corridor. John nodded and obediently headed for the room he had visited several times before. He tried to move quietly, though he didn't care much about the other people sitting in the hall he passed. They didn't even react to his presence. They were completely wasting their time in complete silence. They read, wrote, and some even slept in comfortable armchairs.

He passed a long hall, climbed the stairs, and stood in front of the door behind which one of Mycroft's offices was located. He knew that Sherlock's older brother had several private offices, but for some reason, this was best suited to him. He knocked several times but did not hear the answer. He pressed the door handle. The door opened noiselessly. When he came inside, he was immediately overcome by a familiar smell. The smell of Mycroft and the perfume he used. He closed his eyes. Even a month earlier, the scent of cloves and incense did not impress him, he barely noticed it. Now, after two weeks of living together, he could smell it immediately. This smell made him feel strangely safe. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was exactly what he remembered the last time he was here, but now everything was more in control. John realized why the Venice apartment seemed so strangely familiar to him. He understood that each place had to be approved in advance by Mycroft or his people because the office and living room at the hotel that they were guests were confusingly similar to each other. Both in terms of color and design. Warm colors predominantly dominated in the elegantly arranged environment. A central place in the room was occupied by a desk made of oak wood. John decided to wait for Mycroft next to the desk. He didn't feel confident enough to sit in his chair with his back to the door. He rested his hands and back on a smooth dark desk and waited. He repeated what he intended to say to Mycroft. However, after some time he realized that no learned conversation with him made sense. He rarely had any idea what the discussion would be like with the older brother Holmes. He gave up thinking about the upcoming discussion.

The minutes passed slowly. He was getting bored of watching the dust in the air visible in streams of light sliding from exposed windows. He could call Mycroft and tell him about his arrival. If he wanted, he could arrange to meet him at a specific time and place. However, he was aware that his every move was closely monitored. He knew that Mycroft knew exactly where he was at the moment. That's why he waited patiently in his office. He wasn't going to disturb him in meetings or other things. He knew Sherlock's older brother would come when he had time. It wasn't even a quarter of an hour when he finally heard footsteps in the corridor and a muffled conversation. The door to the room opened without a murmur. Mycroft and some man stood in the door. He was tall with slightly graying hair. He had very bright eyes and a nice smile. John remembered it was probably the same man he had seen that day at Buckingham Palace. He stood upright in the middle of the room.

The man looked at Mycroft knowingly. "I will not disturb you," he said in a pleasant voice. "I'll see you at the agreed place." He smiled and turned to John. "Doctor Watson" he bowed slightly and left, closing the door silently.

Mycroft was not surprised to see the doctor. Not only because he followed his every step. He guessed that sooner or later John would come to him, so he decided to wait. He also didn't want to bother him and Sherlock on Baker Street. He breathed a sigh of relief when he got the message in the morning that John was getting ready to pay him a visit. He looked at the doctor, keeping his face straight. "Good morning, Doctor Watson," he grimaced because even for him his own tone seemed too formal and unnaturally stiff. He moved deeper into the room, avoiding the surprised eyes of the doctor. "You probably came to talk to me and take ..." he passed John, walked around the desk and bent to remove something from the top drawer "... these documents". He looked up and held out a folder toward John. He was surprised because the doctor did not stand before him.

John walked toward the door without a word. He opened it, tilted his head and looked around the corridor. Later, he looked at the interior of the office again and frowned. "No, it's definitely this room," he said with apparently feigned surprise. "You're Mycroft, aren't you? For a moment I thought I had entered the wrong building."

Mycroft gave him a merciful look and smile, or rather a parody of a smile. His lips were pressed tightly, forming a straight line. "As I can see, not only Sherlock loves dramatic scenes. He also has a skilled student," he said calmly.

"And a great teacher," John added. He went to the desk, ending with a dramatic scene. He tilted his head when his eyes met Mycroft. He could expect that when they returned to London, their relationship would change a little, but he did not think that Sherlock's brother would get so lost in the situation they had to face and begin to behave so strangely. He looked at him pityingly. He hoped that the scene from a moment would sober him up. "Mycroft ..." he said quietly in the most pleasant tone he could afford. He saw the change on Holmes's face. His face softened and his eyes weren't so sharp and cold anymore.

It took a while, but after a long silence, Mycroft changed his attitude. "I'm sorry," he said finally. He relaxed his arms, and the sight made John breathe a sigh of relief. "I am a bit ... lost."

"Not only you," he said, and to loosen the atmosphere a little, he sat on the edge of the desk. "Do you have a meeting?" he nodded towards the door, mentioning a man who had left a few minutes earlier. "I won't take too much of your time."

Mycroft smiled honestly for the first time that day. It was not a wide smile, but quite pleasing to the eye. "They'll wait. They won't start it without me anyway." He tried to ignore the closeness of John, who was sitting right in front of him, staring at him with those blue eyes of his. Mycroft was still holding the folder. He handed it to the doctor, watching his reaction. He would have a better view if he backed away, even half a step, but he didn't. He stood still, staring at John's slightly surprised expression. "Those documents confirming the fact of government support for your hospital. From today every uninsured patient will be able to use the help of medical staff. Of course to a certain extent."

John was too surprised and grateful to Mycroft to pay attention to the final fragment of the statement, spoken with less enthusiasm and certainty. He expected Mycroft to keep his word, but he didn't think it would happen so soon. He accepted the file with visible relief and looked up at Mycroft. He was surprised when he saw a pleasant smile on his face. "Thank you," he muttered harshly. "I do not know what to say".

"You don't have to say anything. That was the deal. You helped me, so I want to repay you. I don't like being in debt, especially personal ones."

Suddenly they both started to hear a squeak in their ears. A quiet, prolonged squeak, not caused by an explosion or a sudden shot, but by silence in the room. John looked at Mycroft. They were silent. They knew exactly why. They knew that all-important decisions had already been made. They did not have to pretend or say anything. They knew perfectly well what their life paths would look like and how their choices would affect others. Still, John felt he shouldn't be leaving yet. Talking to Mycroft seemed to him the wisest move now, but he completely did not know where to start and what to say specifically. He was not alone in this, because the genius also faced a dilemma. However, he was in a more comfortable situation. He gained experience for many years. He knew how to react in a particular situation. He felt John wanted to talk. They both needed it, so he decided not to wait any longer.

"John ... the situation we are in has overwhelmed us a bit. Something unexpected happened between us, which surprised both me and you." He paused for a moment, making sure that John was following him. "Of course, you know that just after you decided to live with my brother, I thoroughly analyzed your past," he continued. "Your strict father had a great influence on you," he concluded, seeing John's expression that he surprised him, leaving him without a word. He scratched his fingernail over the desk. "He stifled feelings that as a young man you did not yet understand. You had no support in anyone. Even in a sister who was in a similar situation. Seeing what happened to her and how she was treated, you closed yourself to others and walked the way your father showed you". He looked up at the silent doctor. He listened attentively, but it was evident that the words hit a sensitive subject. He opened the wounds and memories that John so diligently tried to forget about.

"I helped you open up and overcome fears that have held you back for so long," Mycroft continued. He wasn't going to hurt him. He just wanted him to understand his feelings and the decision he had finally made and which he had resisted for so long. "You saw that people can accept and support you. You felt much more confident and safe with me. I also know that you are grateful to me for this. And I do not intend to put myself on a pedestal and require your gratitude. To flatter my own ego is not my goal. "

John nodded, smiling sadly. "I know that, Mycroft." He saw in his eyes the desire to say something else. He waited, but it didn't seem like Mycroft was saying anything more. John expected this, and he knew where the conversation would go. "But?" he said when it became obvious that he would have to initiate further conversation himself.

Mycroft frowned. He looked like he had nothing to add, though he was forced to. "But?".

"There is always a 'but'," John said with a smile. A sad smile, which of course was noticed by Holmes.

"But I would like to dispel the doubts and emotions that you probably have," he said finally. "We both know who you think about all the time and who you want to have by your side."

They were silent. They felt the warmth of their bodies because although they were a little above their feet, they felt that they were burning with fever. It was enough for one of them to reach out to touch each other. They didn't do it. There was no such need. John had made his decision, and Mycroft pretended that there was no other possibility, and the path the doctor chose was the only and most obvious one. They avoided their eyes until the silence became unbearable.

"My brother shunned interpersonal relationships unless he had no other choice or had some benefit out of it." Mycroft used a neutral voice, though he did not dare to look up, which destroyed the illusion of insensitivity and indifference in which John had long ceased to believe. "You are the first person who taught him the proper interaction and coexistence with others. From the very beginning, you have been a support for him, although it is a difficult and often ungrateful task. I am glad that he chose you," he said and finally looked John in the eye. "Because I suppose, you know how my brother feels for you and you have also realized that you have been thinking about him for a long time too," he said confidently.

John looked away at these words. He was slightly embarrassed. The hand he was holding on the counter was beginning to sweat and the pulse was accelerating dangerously. However, he managed to remain calm.

Mycroft was aware that his words troubled John. He looked away, giving him the illusory opportunity to rest from his intense gaze. "Our relationship deepened very quickly and suddenly. You may have had problems controlling your feelings and emotions." His voice was warm and nice. He used this tone mainly for John, but partly for himself because he sensed that the answer to the question he was about to ask would not be the most pleasant. At least its result, because he was convinced that John would wrap it in a thick layer of fluff and decorate it with a bow before he responded specifically. "What was your thought when my brother joined us? Did you want him to be in my place? Did you think about Sherlock when you were... with me?" he asked slowly. His only goal was to make the doctor aware that the feelings he had for Sherlock were the subconscious desire to be someone more than his best friend.

John looked up. He had long thought that Mycroft had complexes. That despite the knowledge and ability he still compared himself with his younger brother and that the result of these comparisons rarely indicated him as the winner. He also knew what he was doing at the moment and what his purpose was. "No," he said briefly and quickly, but truthfully. "I have never treated you as his substitute. I never thought I'd prefer him in your place. It is true that thanks to you I opened myself to the feelings that I fought for so many years. I am and I will always be grateful for that." He wanted to be sure that the words would reach Mycroft's wise but sometimes too proud head. He stared at him sharply. He also changed the way of speaking to less helpless and less embarrassed. "Sherlock ..." he said and sighed immediately. "He has always been important to me, but I was afraid to admit it loudly. I didn't think that someone like him could return my feelings so when you offered me this arrangement I thought I had the only opportunity to be with one of you two and at least pretend that we have something more in common. I wanted to be with Sherlock, but in Venice, it never crossed my mind that I regret every day when I saw your face instead of his eyes. " He got up from the desk, and when he stood upright in front of a genius, he looked at his bright eyes. "I didn't come here to make sure of my feelings but I wanted to thank you honestly. From the very beginning of our feigned marriage, I came to the conclusion that I really like your company. I was really happy with you. Thanks to you I understood that I could be honest with Sherlock and myself. " He wanted to cross his arms over his chest but decided that Mycroft might misinterpret this gesture. "You helped me. I will never forget it." He said finally.

This time Mycroft gave him a slightly amused look. "But?" he asked, imitating his question from a few minutes ago.

John smirked at that. "But I hope you do not throw away memories. I came to make sure that you will not forget the recent events. I know that you did not act when we were together. At least for the most part. I wish our relations would not change and I would like you to still treat me like in the last two weeks. Especially when we're alone and you don't have to play the inaccessible gentleman. "

Mycroft contorted his face in a remarkably similar way to his brother's when he doubted or disagreed with something. "Sherlock wouldn't be happy if I didn't change my attitude towards you. Especially when we're alone."

John smiled back. "Maybe in this one case it would have to change between us, but I would like the rest to be the same."

The most difficult moment, the moment when they had to explain the most important things and reach an agreement, ended better than they had hoped for. No pretensions, reproaches or numb atmosphere. Admittedly, none of them intended to do so. But they were afraid that the inevitable conversation could lead to a tense situation. They stood opposite each other a short distance, they were able to look each other in the eye and smile friendly. It was the perfect end to their strange but interesting 'relationship' that caused so much to happen and thanks to which they understood different things.

"I'm glad, John," Mycroft said frankly. "I've always known that you two were made for each other. I want you to know that you both can always count on me".

Despite the good mood, John fell silent and frowned theatrically, pretending to be confused. "Sherlock is right, you really are becoming more and more sentimental. Although to tell you the truth, you've always been like that in my opinion, but for some reason, you are still trying to hide it from everyone ... You have a big brother complex," he added as he looked at Mycroft from the top of the head to elegant black shoes.

"Don't mention it to Sherlock. I can't convince him a second time that he can make decisions without my total knowledge and assistance," Mycroft muttered with a little amusement. He was relieved that this difficult conversation was over. He looked at the chain watch and put it back in a small pocket at the front of the vest. "Come, I'll give you a ride home."

As they got into the car, Mycroft's assistant joined them. She said hello to John, but a second later she completely lost interest in what was happening around her. She sat staring at the phone and only reacted when the genius gave her orders that John did not understand at all. In other cases, she pretended to be deaf and absent. When they left the Diogenes Club, John began receiving messages from an unknown number. He was afraid to pick it up, still remembering what had happened to Stoner's phone. Mycroft assured him, however, that his fears were completely unfounded because neither he nor his assistant had any reason to destroy his belongings. He risked and read the text. He was surprised when it turned out that this message was from Sherlock. He smiled to himself when he read.

"Should I give you his new number?" he asked Mycroft as he put the phone in his pocket.

"No need" he assured him, slightly lifting and waving his fingers. "I'll get it myself. It would be better if he didn't know you gave it to me the first day," he said with a smile.

They were halfway up Baker Street when Mycroft gave instructions to his driver. The car pulled off the road and stopped at the sidewalk. John looked at him questioningly, but the genius just nodded at something outside the window on the left. John saw the figure of his friend who squeezed between people w his nose stuck in a new phone. When he turned his eyes to Mycroft again, he felt joy and sadness. Something unexpected ended and at the same time something beautiful had its beginning. Mycroft must have seen it too, but he didn't say a word. Even when John pulled a ring from his pocket. Even as he watched him gently turn it between his fingers and then slowly gave the ring to him with respect. He also said nothing when John gave him a sad smile, got out of the car, closed the door quietly, and walked toward Sherlock. They waited a moment longer until the doctor disappeared around the corner. Only now, he dared to sigh deeper and relax his muscles.

"The hardest part of the plan is done," he muttered, and his assistant slightly lifted her eyes from the phone. "I knew it would be difficult, but I chose the right candidate. Our doctor succeeded in what I thought would never happen. They both only needed the impulse to act. I always wanted Sherlock to be happy. It came out as I planned." His assistant looked at him with doubtful eyes. She could afford it because Mycroft was facing the window. If she wanted, she could effortlessly look at his reflection in the window, but she didn't have to. She knew the wistful, sad look and the absent expression he showed her once in a while. Without a word, she focused on the phone screen again. "It's going to rain," the genius said, staring up at the sky and the car slowly started to move again.

Sherlock knew he did the right thing, taking his coat with him. The end of summer spoiled Londoners. It was warm, cloudless and even unnaturally stuffy. However, the weather in this part of Europe was capricious and moody like a bride an hour before her wedding. In the afternoon the sky began to cloud and the wind got stronger. It seemed to be gaining strength with every minute. In just two quarters, the summer - autumn warmth changed with typical British weather. Sherlock felt that this could happen this morning, so now he was proudly wrapped in a coat and put on gloves. It wasn't that cold that he had to protect his fingers from the cold wind, but he had this kind of habit when he was outside between people. He was walking along the main street, ignoring the rare but curious glances of some of the people passing by. Ever since he became popular, thanks to John, he occasionally met with fans who could follow him everywhere. He was glad that at least now he had some peace. It was because the wind was rising more and more. The sky blackened with clouds and people were looking for shelter because it could start raining at any moment.

He was glad that he had managed to spend this time without thinking about his brother and what he was doing with John. The investigation he was conducting at the crime scene helped him do this. When Lestrade appeared in the flat and asked him for help, he did not want or intend to deal with what he thought was a boring case. However, after an hour of aimless walking around the city, he realized that this would not divert his thoughts from John. He decided that maybe he would sacrifice his time and do a good deed, helping the inspector solve the case and get on a date with Molly on time. Although the investigation was short, because the crime did not require much investigation, but it helped him withstand this tiresome time. On the way back, he entered the electronics store. He immediately decided to send a friend a report on the completed case. He pulled the phone out of the box and put all the accessories including the charger in his coat pocket. He left the box on the store counter, ignoring the strange look of the seller. He headed back to Baker Street. In the meantime, he was writing messages to John without looking ahead, which was no problem for him. He knew London and its streets by heart.

John didn't answer, which didn't surprise him much. Apparently, the conversation between him and Mycroft was a little prolonged. Sherlock decided not to think about why it could be this way. He did not want to get nervous and worry about unnecessary and not very cheerful thoughts that involuntarily appeared in his head. He trusted John. He kept telling himself that after he had behaved after his return and this morning he had the right to go home hoping to live together at his side. The phone was silent. Sherlock wondered if he should use this time to enter the numbers of other friends and family. He realized, however, that apart from John's number, he completely did not remember the other numbers. Although he might have remembered, but he would have to enter the palace of the mind and thoroughly search all corners to remember the series of numbers. He preferred to spend this time thinking about his best friend. It was an incomparably more pleasant experience.

He passed the London School of Economics and Political Sciences, and later the British Museum, as usually occupied by tourists. The wind once again blew his hair, the collar of his coat and shirt. He was going to check if John had replied to any of his messages, but the hand he was raised into his pocket was gripped firmly. He turned his head and then saw John. His John. His heart stopped beating for a moment, he felt a shiver on his back, and when the doctor squeezed his hand even harder, he felt the body leave the strange and unnamed brake that had held him in place all these years. His John. Yes. His. Now he could say it out loud. After years of worries, sacrifices, feelings of rejection and unrequited love, he finally had the opportunity to love and be loved by the most important person in his life. Everything showed that from that moment his life would change once again and again thanks to John. He must have looked funny because he saw and heard the sincere laughter of a friend who was saying something to him in his warm voice. Instead of words, he heard a squeak in his ears and the sound of pumped blood. He had to be sure it was true. Be sure that John showed him his feelings before the whole world. He looked at his hand, surrounded by John's fingers. When he became convinced that it was really happening, he looked at John with blurred eyes. He didn't know why everything was slightly blurred. Slowly he began to regain his hearing, but instead of the voice of his friend, he heard only the noise of passing cars, conversations of people and the sound of construction machines somewhere in the distance. It was only after some time that he realized that John stood still and stared at him with slight concern. He did not want to start this beautiful chapter in their lives by worrying him, so to show that the reason for his silence was indescribable joy and relief, he raised his friend's hand to his lips. He kissed it and hugged it to his cheek for a moment.

John didn't answer right away. He watched him, and then he smiled the way only he could do it. He tightened his grip on his hand and calmly pulled him towards Baker Street.

Was he aware of how much this gesture meant to him? How many times did he dream about walking along his side so that others would have proof of what love he had for his best friend? Sherlock didn't know if John had changed or just stopped worrying about the opinions of other people who could easily judge others. But since he opened up enough to go with him, holding his hand, Sherlock was more than willing to let him. He still couldn't believe what was happening. It's true that in Venice he did different things and tempted John with kisses, hugs, and behaviors, which he always wanted to try. It's true that he was clearly seducing him. However, it was Venice. A city of lovers, where everything had its justification. He seduced John because he wanted to make him aware that the relationship with Mycroft, though feigned, was pointless. That he should be his only candidate for a potential partner. He was afraid that he would lose him and again lose the chance to confess what he felt. He did it all with the knowledge that in case of failure he could easily justify himself with the surroundings, the change of environment and the general illusion of the fairy tale that the city on the water created. In London, everything looked different. It was more real here. Realities and consequences had a wider impact on the streets of London than in a city where no one knew them, and decisions and events seemed more like a dream than truth. When John held his hand and proudly walked at his side, he showed everyone that he had decided. That he made a decision and which he intended to stick to, no matter what. That their feelings were real and nobody could undermine it. Sherlock felt that he ultimately belonged to John as he did to him.

They were closer to Baker Street with each step. They were happy and ready to show their love at any moment. They were in a hurry on Baker Street because the awareness of what they were doing was beginning to engulf their entire bodies. Despite the rush and crowds of thoughts, something was wrong in Sherlock's opinion. He wanted to feel John's skin as quickly as possible. He gently released John's hand. He wanted to wipe the surprise away from his face as soon as possible, so he roughly ripped the glove off his hand and folded his fingers with his friend's fingers.

"That's better," he said, smiling honestly.

"Is that such a big difference?" John asked, slightly raising one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth.

"Yes," he nodded. "You can't even imagine how big it is," he said hoarsely. He wanted to kiss John here and now. He could barely refrain from bowing his head and reaching for his wet lips. He was stopped by a new phone that vibrated and made a loud annoying sound. He reluctantly pulled it out of his pocket and read the message. He grimaced, causing John's understandable reaction.

"What is going on?" he asked.

"It's Mycroft," Sherlock muttered, quickly turning off his phone and putting it in his pocket. "He urges me to write down his number."

"I didn't give him your number," John assured him.

"I know". Of course, he believed his friend. Mycroft not only had the opportunity, but also the motivation to write to him right now. He did not doubt his intentional action. Apparently, he couldn't resist irritating him even a little. Right now, when he and John were heading into the apartment to seal their relationship. Sherlock, however, did not intend to let this little malice of Mycroft affect his good mood. He clenched his fingers tighter, giving John a hint that they should not stop on their way home. "Forget about Mycroft. You are with me now."

"By the way, Sherlock ..." he said with audible tiredness. He could barely keep up with his friend's long legs. "What kind of videos have you watched so passionately on your old phone? Molly mentioned she couldn't sleep because of that. These noises woke me up once too."

Sherlock supposed that the loud and uncontrollable signal of the message was associated with the sounds John heard from his phone when they were lying on comfortable bedding in the hotel bed. Still, he couldn't get over how quickly John combined the two sounds and how he even thought about it. He smiled as he remembered the pictures he had so passionately studied from the phone screen. He gave John a compelling look and murmured with his baritone. "I will gladly show you the effect but I prefer not to show you these videos."

John shivered.

Sherlock believed that this was due to what he said and how it worked on his imagination, not the cool wind that was blowing unbelievably hard now. The first drops of rain left marks on their faces. Fortunately, one street separated them from their flat. They ran the rest of the way. They went inside, slammed the door and dropped their backs against the hall wall. Sherlock immediately remembered the day when it all began. The moment they stood tired but amused after their first adventure was the perfect copy of the present moment. With the difference that now they had a stronger bond and feelings. Feeling of love. Sherlock stared into his friend's eyes, still unable to believe what his life would be like now. He slowly changed position, standing in front of John and slightly pressing him against the wall. He stared at him for so long that the doctor couldn't stand it, grabbed his coat collar and pulled him down for a kiss. Their first, passionate and a little awkward kiss.

The road up the stairs seemed long and winding. Sherlock had the feeling that during his absence Mrs. Hudson remodeled their flat, increasing the number of stairs, moving the walls and adding countless unnecessary things on their way. When they finally reached the bedroom, they were sweaty and wet with saliva. They lost their shirts somewhere halfway. They opened the bedroom door with a bang, and they also closed it in the same way. They fell on the bed exchanging kisses and caressing their bodies with greedy hands. Sherlock had the feeling that he had forgotten about something. The thought stayed with him for a moment, but it disappeared when John sucked on his neck. He closed his eyes in pleasure, arched his back, and sighed loudly. He was going to show John how much he adored and loved him. He wanted to prove that his love was greater than he could have imagined. He wanted to finally prove that despite the opinion of the cold sociopath he acted before other people, he could love with all his heart, devote himself to a loved one and make him happy. His desires and intentions, however, melted away under hot breath, deep kisses, and other wonderful things John was doing to him right now. His beloved John. He let him caress his body and although he was not skilled at all, he returned his efforts as best he could. As their naked bodies joined together, he shuddered, letting out a long sound of pleasure. He had longed to experience this feeling for so long, although he doubted for a long time whether he would ever be able to know it. When John rubbed against him, when he was panting in his ear, and when he was whispering words that he could not distinguish by excitement, he prayed that it would not turn out to be a dream. One of his dreams. A sleepy desire that melted when he opened his eyes. However, John's kisses, his insistence, and dexterity made him realize how much reality differed from his wildest dreams. He found this out when a shiver and spasm shook his body. When everything around him swirled under the influence of the pleasure he felt down his stomach.

He trembled for a long time, simultaneously clenching his teeth on John's shoulder, who lay in place and breathed deeply, trying to recover from the spectacular and very pleasant experience. They lay sweaty, tired and relaxed in their embrace because they found each other after many years of searching. They became one body. Their love, though a bit strange and marked by many obstacles, turned out to be real and lasting. They were proof of their love. Despite the difficult moments, they could always rely on each other, they always came back to each other. No matter what they were most important to each other. It was for Sherlock that John came face to face with the greatest fear and anxiety. Fear of rejection. He fought his fears because he loved him just the way he was. Sherlock would not have let him go. He loved the sound of a beating heart and the touch of warm loving fingers that soothingly caressed his hair.

He was torn out of his thoughts by a bolt of lightning somewhere in the distance, as well as a strange sound coming from outside the window. Open window. This is what he forgot about when he had this strange feeling a few minutes ago. He focused his hearing on rhythmic and uniform sound. The moment he realized that it was definitely applause, he heard a male voice belonging to one of Mrs. Turner's residents.

"Finally!" he shouted so that he could be heard. "It took you long!".

He felt John freeze in place with his nose stuck in the bend of his neck. A moment later, however, he heard a soft giggle, and he started chuckling too. "It looks like we'll have to prepare today's dinner," he said as John raised his head and looked at him with hazy eyes, also filled with amusement.

"Because?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Because Mrs. Hudson will have more interesting things to do than cooking eggs and making tea this evening."

He smiled again. Sherlock loved this view. He also loved the warmth of his body and the fact that they could lie naked and relaxed in their arms. Another noise made John turn his head slightly and look at the open window. Drops of rain began louder and more often hit the windowsill, and dark clouds tightly covered the sky, wrapping everything in the darkness. The wind blew refreshing air into the bedroom. John looked at Sherlock, who was watching him again. "You know ..." he said and leaned on his bent elbow "... I prefer the unpredictable London weather than the Venetian heat." Even if he was waiting for an answer, he would not let him give it or respond to his words. He sighed theatrically and put his forehead on his shoulder. "Damn," he said. "I forgot about the daisy."

"About what?" Sherlock asked sincerely surprised. He frowned but didn't expect anything bad.

"About the flower, you gave me" he looked up and gave him a sad look. "I left it in the vase."

Sherlock smiled, raising the corner of his mouth high. "I will buy you as many flowers as you like."

"I take your word for it," he said seriously as if the little flower he had forgotten had the highest value for him. Maybe it really was. "Then, show me what you learned from these videos," he said seductively, among the sounds of an approaching storm.

"Whatever you wish. And by the way ..." Without waiting for permission, he gently pushed John on the mattress and hung over him with a wide smile. "I also forgot something." He bent and kissed him tenderly. "I forgot to say I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story (at least for now). Thank you all for your support. I am incredibly happy I could translate and write for you. I hope we will meet in the next story. You are awesome. I am very curious about your choice.
> 
> If you were so kind and checked it (this is the summary of "Bloody Ring") - https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/CB93HPD
> 
> And also this (About next story) - https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/C6C6X6L
> 
> Thanks, guys!


	23. Chapter 23

JOHNCROFT

  
"Should I park around the corner, sir?" The broad-shouldered man in the suit was staring straight ahead, but perfect hearing allowed him to hear the answer from the back of the car, without having to look back.

Mycroft pulled the door handle. "There is no need today." He doubted that sneaking made any sense. The conversation that lurked somewhere on the horizon must have happened. The surprise effect was not positive in this situation, it could only cause unnecessary tension. In the end, it has been a little over a day since returning from Venice, and it's quite a short time to visit someone without an invitation. Besides, Mycroft also knew he wasn't an awaited and welcomed guest. At least by one person. No. A furtive visit was out of the question. He sighed as he slammed the car door behind him and looked at the building's entrance. The gold number glowed against the black paint. The knocker hung skewed. As usual, he corrected it as he approached the door. He expected them to be open. The door swung open after turning the door handle. It smelled like always. Slightly musty wallpapers. Old wood. The smell of dust and chemicals that have soaked into the walls after so many years. He remembered well when he was worried about Sherlock's health. His passion for chemistry and experimentation often had disastrous effects at home. Fortunately, John was looking after him now. However, this did not bother Mycroft in controlling his brother. He knew every inch of the apartment by heart, and to relax a little before the upcoming confrontation, he focused his mind on imperfections and other details leading upstairs.

A touch of rough wallpaper, masking the architect's shortcomings. Creaking stairs. An increasingly intense chemical smell coming from the kitchen. A quick, blinding light from a lamp that does not match the length and size of the narrow hall. A breath of stuffy, but unexpectedly pleasant air, after a wider opening the last door. Sherlock's annoyed look. The loud sound of closing the book, which he probably read for the good of the upcoming experiment. A mannequin lying on the ground with strangely bent arms. Needle tips scattered around. The sound of a squeaky armchair and creaking skin. A silent invitation to talk, full of sharp looks and controlled movements of his fingers.

He sat down as usual. Elegantly, without a rush. He involuntarily brushed a small crumb off the armrest, which should not be there. When he looked up, he saw Sherlock's intense gaze. They both knew why he came, so there was no point in prolonging this silence.

"Sherlock ...".

"Tea?" the younger genius suddenly asked, holding a cup in his hand. "It's not too warm, but John went with Mrs. Hudson to get some cookies. If you wait, maybe you can try it," he said, then drank some tea. He winced clearly because the taste was disturbed by the fact that the tea was cold.

Mycroft pursed his lips. "We're not children, Sherlock. I thought you had grown out of banter and malice. We both know why I'm here."

He did not answer. He put the cup down on a small table with a serious face and shifted in his chair. "You came to convince me," he said calmly "that my feelings for John are exaggerated because of the rush and with the flow of emotions. That you suddenly opened your eyes and saw what I saw in him from the beginning. You will definitely try to convince me that you are on my side. And the fact that you want to take John away from me will not affect our relationship. And you will present it to me in a gentle form. As you usually do, when you deceive your co-workers with nice words that do not actually reflect the seriousness of the situation and decisions". 

"I came here to assure you that I will stay away from him." These words surprised Sherlock. He saw it in his eyes. "I have allowed you to take the lead many times. I agreed to your choices, although I doubted about its rightness many times. I let you do all these things because you have always needed independence. Everything I did, I did for you. If John decides he would like to be with you, I will be happy to support you. " He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. Suddenly, for some reason, all his thoughts vanished from his mind. He didn't plan the conversation with his brother, but since he started it, he had to finish it too. "I will not persuade him to do anything else," he added after a long silence. He looked up at his brother. "Do you understand that you can't force another person to have specific feelings? We don't have the power to force someone into the behavior and emotions we expect from them."

Sherlock said nothing. He did not grace his brother with either a look or an answer, which was proof that Mycroft's words reached his curly head.

I will not influence him," Mycroft continued a little more calmly. "I am asking you not to do it too. Because no matter what he chooses and what he intends to do, he must do it alone. Any pressure will make him wonder what would happen if ... I know that you love him like a friend. So be like a friend and support him no matter what he decides. " It was hard for him to talk. This was the first time he had faced such a situation. He had not envied his brother's friends before - and he did not have many of them - but now this relationship with John meant something more to both of them. Discussion about him has always belonged to the touchy ones. "What happened between us in Venice ...".

"Please spare me this." Sherlock tilted his head back for a moment like a small child showing his dissatisfaction. He put his hands on the armrests with resignation.

Mycroft understood his behavior and irritation. He knew he was walking on thin ice. However, he was going to explain everything so that there would be no understatement. He wanted Sherlock to have a full picture of the situation and not draw conclusions that could only harm them at the moment. "I just want to say I didn't plan it," he said, despite the impatience on his brother's face. "I never wanted to take the most important person in your life away from you. I never had plans for John."

"Really?" Sherlock asked, trying to make his surprise as audible as possible. "I think otherwise. You are not such a good actor, Mycroft. Do you expect me to believe that before this show in Venice, you did not intend to use him in your plan? That you used his name for these few years, because you didn't have other people to choose? " he asked a little louder than was needed.

Mycroft knew that Sherlock rarely used a raised tone. His nerves must have been unstable right now and he wasn't surprised at all. "Sherlock, we've already talked about it. A few hours after your unexpected arrival. I will repeat. I chose John in a fit of time. He seemed the most responsible and trustworthy man to me. That's why his name appeared in my head first."

"And I will repeat - I do not believe it," he growled, turning his head towards the fireplace.

Mycroft was also slowly losing patience. "I don't want to take your property, as you probably think of him." Sherlock's surprised look was contagious because he too was surprised by his own words. He fell silent, staring at his brother's shocked face. He had no idea how long it was before he could utter his voice again. He only managed to clear his throat and blink several times.

"I never thought of him that way," Sherlock's low voice was full of sadness and anger.

"You are right. Forgive me," he said humbly when he realized that not only was his behavior regrettable, but he also hurt his brother with his words. "Of course I know you never treated him as your property. I didn't want it to sound like that," he could barely stand his gaze. He regretted that he allowed himself to be provoked and lost his patience. He wasn't going to hurt his brother, but he did it every time John was involved. "I'm sorry," he repeated honestly, so Sherlock calmed down a bit but turned his face away again. He was less nervous, but sadness remained. "Brother, you are scared of the thought that John can leave you. That you can be alone. He is your best friend. A friend who always stands by your side and supports you, although sometimes even I doubt whether he does well. Trust him. Last the thing he thinks about is to hurt you. Regardless of his decision, you'll always be the most important thing for him. I know it's hard for you to believe it now, but neither he nor I planned it. And if he turns out to have any doubt as to whether he feels something for me, I will immediately let him know that his hesitation means only one thing. We will forget about this whole situation "he ended his speech with relief that he had already done it. It was hard for him to find words, to express his thoughts. Therefore, when he had already said everything he was about to say, he felt like falling into John's soft and cozy armchair. The situation didn't allow him to do that. He was still waiting for Sherlock's reaction. For any reaction to his words that would reassure him that his brother understood the message and that let him conclude that he had done the right thing, choosing that day for a sincere conversation. The waiting was unbearably prolonged, but the atmosphere did not thicken. And that was a good sign. Mycroft knew this and knew when the action he was taking was going in the right direction. Now the most important thing was time. He decided to give it to Sherlock as much as he needed. As silent as he could, he got up from John's comfortable chair and, trying to avoid creaking floor panels, walked to the door. When he was about to go out into the hall, he turned to his silent and thoughtful brother.

"You can be sure that I will not mention this conversation to anyone. Think about what I said and let John make his own decision," he said, grasping the door handle in his stress-glacial hand. "Please remember that I care about you. Just like your friend does."

Further efforts to end the conversation in the least conflicting way made no sense. Mycroft saw that Sherlock was already immersed in his own thoughts. He also had to think about some important things, although unlike his brother, he also had other responsibilities. After returning from Venice, he focused almost immediately on work. He might have involved his people, but thinking about John and what happened to them took too much of his time. He started to worry that the emotions that arose when he thought of the doctor would completely overwhelm him, and this had no right to happen. At least at that moment. He wasn't sure about his decision, and anticipating his choices was pointless. John has repeatedly proved to him that, although he seemed simple to decipher outside, he could behave in a completely irrational and surprising way. He had to leave his thoughts about their possible relationship until John finally dispelled his doubts. He walked slowly down the creaking stairs, trying to sort out his thoughts somehow. When he closed the main door and as he approached the black car, he noticed two people walking towards him out of the corner of his eye.

"Mycroft?".

John's surprised voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to him. The first thing that caught his eye was the doctor's silver hair, shimmering in the sunlight, dark blue eyes and tanned skin, which contrasted unusually with the color of his hair. He saw the bags in his hands and a list - most likely a shopping list - sticking out of his trousers pocket. It was only after a while that he saw Mrs. Hudson. She was a little less overjoyed to see him, which was completely understandable. The surprise and then almost panic in her eyes made him focus on her longer.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here at this time? Did something happen? Something with Sherlock?" she asked quickly, looking at the windows of her flat. "Just don't say he spilled this strange liquid from the fridge. I told him so many times that he should get rid of this filthy thing before he destroys my floor."

"Please, don't panic, Mrs. Hudson," he sighed and comforted her. "Your floor is safe."

"That's good. I was about to go there and say what I think about his experiments," she said in a less nervous tone.

Mycroft gave the doctor a quick look. "Sherlock will be calm for a few days. He won't do anything dangerous. Besides, the building can't be more damaged." The biting tone made her stare at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"Cracked and dirty walls, creaking floors, fungus behind the kitchen cabinet ..." he said, not even looking at the landlady's surprised face for a moment. "I would advise you to buy a new oven. Maybe your cakes will stop smelling of Victorian dust."

Mrs. Hudson clenched her teeth. She took the plastic bags from John's hands and, did not waiting for another biting comment about her flat, turned to the door. "I'll talk to your mother, young man," she growled loudly and firmly. A moment later she disappeared behind the door.

"If you wanted to talk in private, you could have planned it better," John said with amusement. When he looked at Mycroft, he saw that he was watching him intensely and seriously, although a small smile played on his lips. He didn't feel very comfortable when the older brother looked at him that way. He felt almost eaten alive. He crossed his arms and nodded towards the flat. "Molly asked Mrs. Hudson to help her bake some cake. She has a date with Greg," he explained, though he did not doubt that Mycroft had deduced it faster than it took him to see the black car outside their flat.

"I see this time Miss Hooper decided to take matters into her own hands," Mycroft nodded understandingly. He looked somewhere over John's shoulder. He looked like he was lost in his thoughts. "It's amazing how a change in surroundings can affect people's behavior. They become braver and can take risks they have never thought of before. Venice is a truly magical place." When he looked away and looked at the silent John, he noticed that he was playing with the ring he still had on his finger. The view shocked Mycroft so much that he stood staring at the small, golden object for a moment. How could he overlook it? John was wearing it all this time? Was the sight of the ring on the doctor's finger so natural for him that he completely forgot about another possibility? Was that a good sign? Probably yes. If he could, he would have come to deeper conclusions. However, he did not have time. The situation surprised him, the more that he did not think at all about the effects that John's behavior and decisions might have on this small object. In his heart, he felt that it was a good omen. Awareness poured out a pleasant warmth down his spine. He wanted to take his hand and kiss his finger, then his whole hand. At the moment, however, he had to clear up the misunderstanding. John apparently came out with the mistaken assumption that the reason for his presence on Baker Street was the desire to collect the ring, which has already lost its relevance and usefulness.

"I had to clarify a few things with Sherlock. I wasn't going to take your time, that's why I decided to come when he was alone."

John lowered his arms with visible relaxation. "And?" he asked when he understood the meaning of Mycroft's words. "Can I enter the house without fear, or should I prepare for a hurricane?"

Mycroft raised a corner of his mouth. "I believe you are in a better position than Mrs. Hudson, who will probably hear some comments about her cooking today." The quiet giggle that came from John's throat was the first pleasant sound Mycroft heard that day. He looked at him with pure pleasure written on his face. He was glad that despite the tense atmosphere created by recent events, he managed to make John laugh, which was often not an easy task. He would look at him longer, but he felt they were being watched. He did not want to know if he was right, and although his eyes involuntarily wandered toward the upper floor windows, he forced himself to stand still. He knew the best solution was to say goodbye to John and get in the car. He felt that he should not prolong the conversation with the doctor, although he was sincerely eager for a longer discussion and to be able to look at his silver hair, which for some reason he could not take his eyes off. He looked back, giving the soundless order for the driver to open the door for him. The man immediately left the black car and opened the side door without a word. Mycroft saw understanding in John's eyes, so he reached out his hand. John's hand was warm and the grip was firm and steady. Mycroft hesitated for a split second whether to raise his hand to his mouth, as he used to do in the last two weeks. He gave up this type of farewell. He still had the impression that somebody stared at him, so he returned the warm handshake. It lasts a little longer than necessary, but he couldn't resist. He also smiled honestly and nodded. When he got into the car, he rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. He expected a visit to Baker Street to be stressful, but he did not expect that waiting for another meeting with John would be even more difficult for him.

\---

Waiting for John's action was unbearable. Mycroft knew that sooner or later Sherlock's friend would ask him to explain what had happened between him and his brother. He was already preparing for the upcoming conversation, but for the time being there was no indication that it was going to happen soon. Every day he woke up convinced that maybe it was the day. As it turned out later, he was wrong every time. He tried to find some mentally demanding activities and problems he could solve. He threw himself into the vortex of meetings. He filled the calendar with all he could to stop thinking about John and Sherlock and the reason the whole thing was about. It wasn't until the fifth day that he opened his eyes that he immediately felt that it was the day. He felt John would want to talk to him today. He decided not to plan anything important, he asked his assistant to delay the appointments he had already marked on the calendar and change the dates of these meetings. Instead of a comfortable chair in a quiet office, he chose the gray seat on the back of the car. He drove around London and waited for any news about John's movements. He was sitting in the car with a laptop on his lap and his phone next to him. Several hours passed, but he finally got the report that John had left the apartment and was walking towards the Diogenes Club. Mycroft, who knew London as good as Sherlock, quickly concluded that roadwork would force John to abandon the taxi - he had definitely used - and walk the rest of the way on foot. He also knew where to wait for him.

Russell Square was a charming place. The large garden allowed spending time alone away from the crowds, and a large number of trees and shrubs calmed down even the most exhausted nerves. Mycroft noticed that John visited the park quite often, after serious quarrels with Sherlock, and when he had some free time, to meet old friends. So he concluded that this would be the most appropriate place to 'kidnap' him from the street and at the same time not expose him to sinister glances because the sight of a familiar park would have a calming effect on him. As the black car rolled slowly down the street, Mycroft saw John walking in the opposite direction. The driver knew his employer, so without a word he drove towards him and stopped the car next to the pavement. If John was surprised when he saw the car, he skilfully hid it. He stopped, looked at the black car and got in without a word. The moment the car started to move, the driver pressed the button and the soundproof glass separated him from the two men who were sitting in silence in the back seat of the car.

"Mycroft, what did you do to him?" John asked nervously, not trying to be polite.

Holmes paid no attention to his anger. He turned to him and smiled with pursed lips. "Good morning, John" he greeted him calmly and leisurely.

John gave him an ironic look. "Mycroft ..." he warned a little less furiously.

"What's happening?".

"Are you serious?" John asked sincerely surprised and irritated by Mycroft's theatrical ignorance. "You usually know the whole schedule of his day, from the moment he wakes up to the moment he goes to bed. You have your spies everywhere. They probably report you every time when he sneezes. And now you ask me what's happening?" He rubbed his eyes, then clenched his hands in a nervous tick. "He sits in his armchair, doesn't speak and thinks all the time. He murmurs something under his breath. He doesn't answer my questions. He ignores phone calls and everyone around."

"This is not strange behavior for Sherlock," Mycroft replied in a calm, peaceful tone.

"I know. But ..." John, after releasing all the accumulated anger, sank limply into the seat, lowering his head "... but this time something is wrong. I feel it. Mycroft, I don't know what happened between you two, but you must fix it "he looked pleadingly at the older man.

"Forgive me, John, but unfortunately I have no influence on how my brother behaves."

John leaned his back of the head against the back of the seat. "As usual," he sighed. "When I want to know what's going on, you both remain silent. You ignore me and my questions. When I want to help you, you pretend I don't exist," he fell silent and gave Holmes a look full of something that Mycroft couldn't define. "You don't need me," he added quietly.

Mycroft bit his tongue at the last moment. He sighed, glancing quickly at his nails. "Sherlock and I ..." he hesitated. He remembered what he had promised his brother, so he had to refrain from revealing the details of their conversation. "We had a little discussion."

"I figured as much," John said. He nodded but did not change his position. He watched Mycroft from a not very comfortable angle. "About what?" he asked.

"About you".

John was surprised. Not by the fact that he was the main topic of their discussion - because it happened often, - but by Mycroft's honesty. He usually had to ask and draw conclusions himself, because Sherlock's older brother loved to play with words and metaphors. The simplicity and sincerity with which he admitted it was refreshing and unexpectedly charming. He sat motionless for a moment, unable to bring out the questions that came to his mind.

"I don't want to go into details," Mycroft immediately set the limit, cutting off John's hopes. "Besides, I promised him to remain silent and not interfere in your life for the next few days. You have to endure his moods for some time, and then you will do whatever you want."

"What do you mean?".

"The decisions you make will be fully respected by us. No matter what, you'll have our support."

"I still don't understand." He frowned.

Mycroft licked his lower lip. He had never done this type of gesture before, but John's presence caused him unprecedented thoughts. He tried hard not to look at his lips, which is why he was staring at his own hands for the most part. "John, please, think," he said finally. "Why am I arguing with Sherlock lately? What is the cause of misunderstanding and forgive for the expression, the goal of our quarrel" word 'goal' he specifically uttered in a different tone. He didn't want John to feel offended or hurt by his words. He could not find a better word substitute at that time, and thinking about it for a longer period of time would not be good either. Seeing John's expression, however, he concluded that he was not offended. But curious and a little sad.

"I don't want to be the reason for your quarrels," he said as he unconsciously licked his lips.

"And yet you are. Do you guess why this is so?" he asked quietly and subtly, looking deep into his eyes. Slowly but methodically he started to lose control over his emotions.

John glanced at his lower lip for a split second, but he immediately controlled himself and gave him a sharper look. "If it's some bet or fun between you and Sherlock ...".

"It stopped being fun after our first night together, John," he interrupted immediately, turning his body completely toward him.

John reacted, straightening and opening his eyes wide. "Mycroft, do you realize what your words sound like? And what tone do you use when you say such things?" he asked surprised by the desperation, anger, and tension in the genius's voice.

"I realize that, John," Mycroft assured him. He was determined but tried to stop himself from doing something strange. "And I am aware of every word I say."

"Should I understand that you would like to forget about that night?" he asked, looking down at Mycroft's slightly open mouth. "Or repeat it?"

That was enough to break the resolutions and perseverance of the genius. Mycroft jumped toward him, pressing him against the car window. He put his hand to the cold glass and hung over the surprised doctor who instinctively pressed his body between the door and the back of the seat. "I promised Sherlock that I wouldn't touch you with my finger until you gave me a sign that you wanted it," he murmured, strangely breathless and slightly red on his face and neck.

John stared at the soft, wet mouth of the other man and his glistening eyes, completely obscured by his dilated pupils. He couldn't focus. He felt that he was starting to breathe hard and his heart was beating with double speed and strength. Finally, he bit his lip and looked straight at the genius. "I want it," he murmured in a hoarse voice filled with desire.

Mycroft opened his mouth slightly and lowered his head. He was ready to kiss him. Wildly. Passionately. So that he would remember that kiss and think about him at night. The hand he held on the glass was starting to slip slowly, shifting his position. The doctor's hot breath warmed his face and the trembling body twitched as John pressed his free hand against him. Lips parted and eager. Moistened with warm saliva. Ready to be united. He stopped at the last moment. He didn't plan it that way. He wanted to gain John in a different way. He felt physical pain as he tensed his body and turned his face away. "No, John," he said, feeling pain in his throat. "Not like this. We made the same mistake in Venice. This time I want it to be thought through," he continued without changing his position. "I want this decision to be made with full awareness of the situation, not under the influence of emotions, in a fit of passion and desire."

"You won't kiss me?" John asked, watching the genius return to his previous position and smooth his hair.

Mycroft looked at him. "No. Because, despite how it may seem, I also have feelings. I am afraid of the consequences of a mistake that we could make without thinking about the future".

The car was silent. Neither Mycroft nor John spoke anymore. They both tried to calm down after what had happened. Actually, after what didn't happen. Mycroft regretted not being able to control himself. He was worried about Sherlock's reaction because it was certain that his younger brother would guess what had happened. He was also afraid that this would be his last opportunity to feel John's lips. He still wasn't sure what he would decide, and the prospect of spending the next days in doubt frightened him. He couldn't deduce what John was thinking when he looked at him. The doctor was looking at the buildings, shops and streets they passed. He rubbed his face and clenched his fingers on his left knee. When they arrived back at Baker Street, John sat for a moment, then finally looked at Mycroft, grabbing the door handle. He didn't say a word. He made no gesture. He opened the door and got out of the car. Before he disappeared from Mycroft's view, he leaned over and looked inside the car. He opened his mouth, ready to say something. He didn't do it. He closed the door quietly and entered the building.

\---

A cold and windy night was the perfect time to relax. A busy day full of meetings, boring conversations, and unimportant decisions was over. He also got many reports regarding the apartment and residents of Baker Street. It was an ordinary day in Mycroft's life. When he left the office, he felt the refreshing wind on his face. For a moment he wondered if he should take a smoke, but decided that satisfying his hunger and thirst was a more important thing to do. Fortunately, with his position and authority, he didn't have to think about choosing the right restaurant. He always had a choice of several places, ready to serve him without waiting and serve his favorite dish. One word to the driver was enough, and he soon stood under one of the most expensive and elegant restaurants in London. Each time he got out of the car, he was greeted by the same faces and the same inviting gestures. He slowly followed the waiter, tapping the tip of the umbrella on the smooth carpet. He would sit where he usually sat, he would order what he always ordered, and he would enjoy a moment of peace with a bottle of his favorite wine. Waiting for the late supper, he looked at the golden object on his finger. Wedding ring. The thing that started it all. The reason why his life turned upside down. He wondered where he had made a mistake. At what moment in life and in whose presence. How was it possible that he - the most important person in Great Britain, the person pulling the strings and ruling all the most important institutions, even those outside the borders of the Great Kingdom - had to fall so low and use lies in such a trivial matter as his supposed marriage. And how did it happen that he was sitting here in Le Gavroche surrounded by the dim light of candles and lamps and thinking about one person? How was it possible that he became so sentimental and emotional? He knew whose fault it was, and yet he couldn't get angry at that person. Thanks to John, he had to face new experiences. He caused emotions that he thought he got rid of long ago. He was worried about how he would handle his daily life if his fears proved to be true. Once again he looked at the ring, turned it with his thumb and thought deeply.

  
When he started working for the government more than twenty-five years earlier, he knew that he would be someone important in the future. He has always had a lot of ambition and intelligence. Intelligence that surpasses the minds of the most intelligent people, commanders, and specialists. He believed in his skills and he was convinced of his superiority. He had confirmation it was true when he spent time with the 'elite', i.e. people convinced of their unquestionable power, position and privileges, and who could be outsmarted and deceived with one well-pronounced sentence. Yes. He knew he was special. He wanted to occupy the most important positions and strengthen his power. But he was not greedy of attention. He knew that real influence and real power was when most people did not know about it. Therefore, he often remained in the shadows, allowing others to take credit for his work. Thanks to this, he could rule not only people who received prizes but also people who gave these prizes to others. He pretended to be someone's subordinate. Even his offices looked ordinary, unlike the offices of people who were in similar positions to him. He bowed and carried out orders from people to whom he gave these orders. Everything to keep up appearances. In this way, year after year he received more important positions until there was no one above him. Then he also took over the position outside the country. He was doing very well. He easily combined work for the homeland and other countries with caring for his younger brother. His life would be perfect if it wasn't for monitoring Sherlock's actions and the problems associated with the golden thing on his finger. A trivial problem that has been growing regularly every year.

It all began on the spring day when he was introduced to the most representative person in the country for the first time. He was still young and inexperienced, but at the same time convinced that one day both the queen and the other members of the royal family would address him with respect and with requests so that he could solve their problems. When he stood before the queen, he was neither scared nor overwhelmed by the presence of the monarch. He examined her with a careful look but kept his conclusions to himself. For some reason, he immediately gained her trust and later sympathy. One day she took him for a walk in her gardens. She asked why, as one of the few of her subordinates, he has no wife yet. The question surprised him so much that he only managed to make a short answer. He learned that the presence of the ring on his finger allows him to win a greater trust of other people. They have the impression that the owner of the ring is more emotionally and life-stable and thus has a lower propensity to cheat and take risks. She made him realize that the most important thing is the presence and first impression, and whether the illusion in which the others believe is real does not matter. It doesn't matter if power is involved. He believed her. After all, nobody knew more about this type of matter than her. He felt greater respect and admiration for her that day. He followed her instructions and suggestions, and a week later he bought a gold ring and put it on his finger. When he was asked about the reason and when the judgments were made, he did not correct their erroneous conclusions. He let others believe what they wanted. Slowly and reluctantly, he started playing a game of appearances, but he was sure of his skills. He didn't see anything wrong with it, so he kept going into the cobwebs of lies, that he easily controlled.

His first problems started during the conventions, where he was sent as a delegate. He had the opportunity to meet people who worked for their country. These people changed their positions every year. Some left or were replaced by others, but the most important of them still held their positions. Nothing has changed for years. He met people who were intelligent, naive, fighting for good, ambitious and lazy people, good-natured, and sometimes those who did not even know how they got there. The most pleasant experience for him were acquaintances that matched his intelligence. Some people did get on his nerves, but he had at least some entertainment and pleasure in showing them their place in long and demanding discussions. Of course, almost every time he had to explain the absence of his partner at the congress. It was tiring, but he could always find a fine excuse to satisfy their curiosity. But that was about to change. He met Aaron Stoner at one of the conventions. He immediately seemed extremely intelligent, somewhat crazy, spontaneous and ... irritating to him. There were only two things they shared. An open mind and sexual preferences. Mycroft did not hide his orientation, and Stoner didn't care what sex his lover was. Holmes shook his head every time he heard about his partners. But he had no choice. He considered acquaintance with him as a necessity rather than pleasure, but he had to admit that discussions, banter, and competition tightly filled his time on prolonged trips. He also had to admit that competing with him gave him a lot of satisfaction because he loved to show his superiority especially over people who got on his nerves. The only time he felt defeated and sick to his stomach was when they started talking about his wedding ring and another absence of his spouse's at the congress. Usually, simple explanations like he is sick, he visits his family, he didn't feel like joining, was enough, but not for Stoner. Each time he gave him strange looks and smiles. He was so annoying that Mycroft felt sick at the thought of the next congress. This situation lasted for several years, during which he began to sincerely regret his lie and naivety when he thought that his lie would never be exposed.

And then he met John. Doctor John Watson. Military doctor with post-traumatic stress disorder. As soon as he appeared near Sherlock, he caught his attention. At first, he treated him like the other Sherlock roommate candidates, but he only needed a few files of documents that his people managed to gather during the day to assure him of the doctor's extraordinary character. Later John assured him in person. The first conversation with him was interesting and full of contradictions. He liked that he didn't let him intimidate him easily. He took a proud and courageous attitude and quickly gave up his offer to spy on Sherlock. Mycroft hoped that Sherlock's strange companion would complete him and help him survive in a world that his younger brother probably didn't fully understand. He believed that despite the quirks, they would get along and they would make a great duo. He wasn't wrong. The first weeks were proof that these two such strong personalities were able to work together, and what's more, live together and interact with each other without problems. He was impressed by how easily Sherlock accepted John and trusted him. Everything seemed to be going in the right direction. Of course, apart from the fact that they both loved the risk and often came up with dangerous and strange ideas that made Mycroft shiver. They were made for each other and soon became inseparable.

Mycroft was happy. After all, his brother met his soul mate, and in his case, it always seemed impossible. His joy would be even greater if it wasn't for other feelings. Feelings of discomfort and something similar to jealousy. He felt discomfort every time John was in the same room. He had to watch his words and behave naturally, which was more of a challenge to him than he had expected. Jealousy revealed strangely. At first, he disregarded it. He rejected the thought that he might envy his brother something. What's more - someone. But the feeling did not disappear. It increased every time he saw the smiles they gave each other. When he received reports of their investigations. When he witnessed their intimacy and true friendship. When John strongly supported Sherlock for the first time, when he stood up for him and was ready to give his life for him, Mycroft knew that it was not just a feeling of jealousy. He wanted to be in the place of his brother. He wanted to feel this sweet presence behind his back and be sure that whatever happened, he could always count on someone's support, and be sure he wasn't alone. He was glad Sherlock found a person like John, but ... That's right. But. For the first time in many years, Mycroft doubted his pure and undisturbed love for his brother. He was ashamed of the feelings he had when John and Sherlock were around. He finally convinced himself that it was just a misunderstanding. That a lot of work, the intensity of stressful decisions he had to made and upcoming congresses stressed him so much that it affected his ability to keep his head cool and sober thinking. He forgot about this whole situation and supported his brother, spied on him, John and his other few friends.

When he first realized that his feelings for John could be stronger and deeper than he thought, he clammed up. He avoided coming to their flat, talking about the friendship of John and Sherlock, and avoiding all the celebrations and meetings where he would meet them. He intervened in really important situations and talked to them if he had to, and he did it only on the phone. It was only when Moriarty appeared in their lives that he focused on helping them, not on rejecting his feelings. He realized that his behavior suited more a rebellious teenager than an adult man. He did not want to be considered a jealous and offended man, so he has returned to normal behavior and interaction with John and Sherlock. When life returned to normal, he visited them more often but did not allow himself for any behavior that could give them a clue about his true feelings. He kept his face cold and stoic, and although he supported Sherlock deeply and cheered on him, he still felt a twinge in his heart every time he looked at John. And nothing between them would have changed if it hadn't been for the mistake he had made a few years before the doctor had made friends with Sherlock for good. This error cost him a lot of nerves and sleepless nights. It was because of his saying one foolishly chosen word. During the annual special meeting in Malta, when he was once again overwhelmed with questions about the wedding ring and his chosen one, he mentioned his husband. Using John's name. He did not know why he chose him and why this name appeared in his head when he thought about living together with another person. And then it all began. All information about the mysterious man who had been able to avoid being exposed by his husband for so long was pulled out of him. At first, he was too surprised by choosing him as his partner to feel guilty by dragging him into this misunderstanding. He understood his mistake when he went to the next congresses. When he was almost forced to introduce his chosen one. He was tormented for a long time and urged him to take him to the next trip. His awkward situation ended for a moment when Moriarty became his greatest worry. They knew about his problems, so they stopped bothering him. But they started talking about it again when everything got back to normal. He had no excuse anymore. He was tired of constant persuasion, but Stoner's stares irritated him the most. His mischievous comments and smiles whenever he booked a suite with a single bed.

He had enough one day. He realized that he would lose nothing, asking John for a favor. When he came to Baker Street and when his proposal was completely disregarded, he was not surprised but decided not to give up. He was bothering John at work and at home. He ignored his brother's angry glances and the doctor's indifference until his persistence was rewarded. John agreed to pretend to be his husband, which gave him not only relief but also strange joy. Mycroft returned to his home with a feeling of satisfaction and went to sleep with a smile for the first time in many years. This mood stayed with him the next day and it was not spoiled by the fact that he overslept to work. Even the strange looks of the assistant could not remove his satisfaction from his face. He understood the seriousness of the situation only when they flew to Venice. It was then that he felt doubts and fears. John and his bellicose attitude did not help him either. He knew about the doctor's strong character, but it was difficult to get along with him at first. For the first time, he had the opportunity to spend time with him alone. He didn't know what to think about it. The situation was not improved by the fact that Stoner was around, and John, like John, always had his opinion and it was difficult to convince him of something he did not want to do.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worrying thing was that he was starting to like this fake marriage. He liked John's smiles, his strong hand as he held his hand in front of others. The way he talked to him and how he treated him. He liked his shiny eyes and wavy hair when they swam through the main canal at night for the first time. He liked the fact that John always had his opinion, but he was also able to adapt to the situation. He loved the moments when he confronted him, convincing him of good intentions, like when he turned off his laptop in the middle of the work and led him to the bedroom, not caring about what it must have looked like. Being with John has changed a lot about his behavior and the way he looked at him. He was attracted to his firm tone and devotion. After the first night together, he started to feel guilty. He was afraid of Sherlock's reaction if he found out he slept with his best friend. Strangely, John didn't look like he regretted it, so he surprised him once again and made thinking about him the norm. It was easier for them to pretend every day. Kisses, looking into the eyes, showing feelings. Mycroft knew it was all just a show, but he felt in his heart that he had been missing it all his life. So he took the opportunity. He told himself that he would face the consequences when he returned to England. That he would have time to think about everything and draw conclusions in London. He was convinced that everything would return to normal. He let himself be carried away by the feeling and possibility of being with John so close. The situation turned upside down when Sherlock came to Venice. He had to face not only the reality but also the situation that Sherlock and John had to face. He failed Sherlock's trust. He also felt that he had somehow failed John. He was struggling with this feeling, so at the first opportunity, he allowed the situation to return to normal. He had to deal with his unexpected emotions and feelings. He chose to think alone and let John and Sherlock talk in private. He felt that he had no chance of success anyway. Because what would this success look like? Should he take the only true friend away from his brother? Was he supposed to convince John that he was a good choice too? No, it was wrong. These two were meant for each other. Besides, he also convinced himself that this was a short mistake in his life. A mistake that he could appreciate in the future, but he had to treat it as a warning. He shouldn't open up to others so much and he should hide his emotions. He decided not to bother John and Sherlock anymore.

He failed. Jealousy and other negative emotions became clearer and stronger when he saw them together. When he felt compared to his younger brother. His self-control was falling apart when John was around. He couldn't control the pain. The only way out was to argue and push the doctor into Sherlock's arms. That's how he handled rejection. Exposing himself to greater suffering and convincing himself that this was the only thing he deserved. The situation changed on the last day. Ironically, it was Sherlock who made him realize that the fight for what he wants to have does not always have to end tragically. It was thanks to his brother that he understood that being open to other people does not necessarily mean weakness. On the contrary. He could find what he lacked, he can fill the void and feel happy and complete. When he returned to England, he understood how much he wanted John. His warmth, smiles and all the small gestures that made him feel special. He didn't think he had made a mistake asking for his help, but he was afraid of one thing. That he would be alone after all. That, if he gives John the freedom of choice he would be rejected and he would not be able to experience happiness. Because, what could John feel for him in two weeks? Half a month could not match the years he had spent at Sherlock's side. He was worried that he would treat it as an adventure filled with an emotional swing. That when he came home he would forget about everything and would take his own feelings for a whim or temporary infatuation. He wanted to be sure that John would take his words to heart and make a decision not based on emotion, but that decision would be well-thought and made with full awareness.

  
That is why he had been worried and taciturn for several days. He tried to function normally and did it successfully. He had experienced, so cheating and pretending came easily to him. Only the assistant had to suspect something. It wasn't weird. She knew him best of all the associates he had. It was a relief that even if she suspected something, she didn't say a word. She stayed with him and endured his moods, supporting him with her attitude. He was grateful for that, which is why he decided to give her a free evening. He sent her home and took care of the rest. The evening ended quickly because he had many things to do. When he went home after supper, it was past midnight. He lived outside the city in a calm and very quiet area, so it took him extra time to get there. He was not in a hurry, however. He watched the changing landscape outside the window. Flashing lights and the decreasing number of cars. When he arrived, he felt a calming fresh air, smelling of wood and a nearby pond. He listened to the humming leaves of the fence and the noise of the distant city.

John still controlled his thoughts. He was able to remember every emotion he felt to a particular situation related to the doctor. He remembered the words he said, the facial expressions and gestures that attracted him to John. He was rhythmically tapping the tip of his umbrella on the stones surrounding the driveway in front of his house, counting in his mind the warm words he heard from John. Every compliment that showed his interest. When he turned the key in the elegant front door he remembered how he felt looking at him at night when he was sleeping and was not aware of the intense gaze. Passing through the dark hall, he saw scenes from their first and last official dinner. Especially the last one, because that was when he kissed him for the last time. The moment he threw off his blazer, he untied his tie and took off his shoes, he came back with memories of their night together. As he stood in the middle of the room, he smoothed his hair and rubbed his tired face, he felt John's skin under his fingers, the soft touch of his silver strands and breaths. He sighed, remembering how much pleasure his closeness had given him.

A strange feeling pulled him out of his thoughts. He tensed his body, ready to defend himself. He clenched his hand on the wooden handle of the umbrella, he hung on an elegant armchair. Before he realized that the burglar had the advantage of time, he managed to look around the room. He never turned on the light when he came home. A figure standing near the window caught his attention. Unfortunately, the moon glowed on the other side of the sky, so the shapes of this person were blurred. He was angry at his nonchalant behavior. He never had problems with people who could try to break into his house before, but he was always careful. Instead of thinking of John, he should focus his attention on the slightly twisted rug in the hall. He could tell someone was at home when he noticed the glasses strangely set on the table next to the fireplace. He could finally smell the strange scent that was in the air and trust his intuition when he thought of someone else's presence. But before he turned his body toward the mysterious person and before he prepared the tip of the umbrella for his defense, he heard a familiar voice.

"As I can see, my advice has not worked. You still care more about your job than your health." John slowly walked out of the darkness. He set the glass down on a low table near the fireplace. "Maybe I shouldn't be coming today, but I couldn't help myself," he muttered, still waiting for an answer.

Mycroft did not move. He didn't say a word, only the quick breaths were proof that he was alive. He was looking at the doctor who was approaching him. John leaned over the table and turned on the lamp. Mycroft finally understood that it wasn't the crazy dream of a tired man. John's face was full of self-control, confidence and a bit of excitement. When he pulled the keys from his pocket, hung them on his finger, and moved them, Mycroft already knew that what he really wanted in life was right in front of him. A small, smug man, he thought of more than one night. He wanted to approach John, put his arms around him, and then take him to the bedroom and spend there the rest of the night with him.

"I got it from Sherlock," John said, looking at the dangling keys, "but he probably didn't think it would be used for a secret meeting in the middle of the night." The smile disappeared from his lips as he looked at Holmes, who was still silent. "Mycroft?" he asked in a slightly less feisty voice.

"You are here," Mycroft said, after a long moment of silence.

"I am" John confirmed. He tossed the keys on the armchair without taking his eyes off Mycroft's eyes.

"You chose me." He started to approach John. He felt the fire in his own eyes. The heat under his skin called for touch. He stopped right in front of the doctor and looked down at him for a moment. Not because he felt better than him, but because he was taller. He slowly brought his nose closer to his hair. He wanted to feel the touch of silver hair and smell the shampoo he used every day.

"I did," John confirmed, closing his eyes, intending to cuddle into Mycroft's warm arm. He couldn't do it because the genius lifted his chin with his fingers and then kissed him. He had wanted it since he returned to England. Mycroft's hot breath, agility, and experience made him barely able to stand on his straight legs. He embraced his waist and allowed him to take control not only of the kiss itself but also his own body. He loved when the genius gently but firmly took him in his arms, pressed him to his body and kissed him passionately. He was surprised that it lasted only a few seconds. When Mycroft pulled away from his mouth, he looked straight into his dark, lust-filled eyes. "You have nothing to tell me?" he asked with a smile.

"We'll talk in the morning," he muttered, quickly gasping and trying to keep his elegance.

"Why not now?".

"Because now ..." Mycroft pulled away from him and grasped his hand firmly "... we will make love." He pulled him towards the bedroom. Along the way, they started to take off unnecessary things, finding time for kisses and caresses. Mycroft felt John devoted himself to him completely. He was walking, - actually trying to do it with eyes closed, - kissing him. He trembled every time the doctor bit his ear and stroked his back with his fingers. When they fell on the bed, they got rid of the last layer of clothing and moaned as they cuddled up to their naked bodies. He knew how to get John into ecstasy. He sucked on his neck and slowly began to move his hips. He swallowed every sigh. He was greedy but not selfish. When they were both ready, he reached for the things prepared in the drawer of the bedside table. He knelt between John's legs and slowly started to prepare him for the most important and pleasant part. With misty eyes, he watched the pleasure that was written on his face. He could hear moaning and pleading, but he only entered into him when he was sure he would not hurt him. They moaned loudly and the lust made their movements faster and wilder with each passing moment. All this time he embraced John, he didn't let him rest. He was deliberately pressing his body against him as if to show him that he had made a choice and that this is how their nights will look from now on. John tried to give him pleasure too. He was lying on his back, clenching his muscles, giving him incredible pleasure. He put his arms around him and moaned with each move, begging for more. But Mycroft wasn't going to stop at this one time. When he felt that he would come in a moment, he moved away from John, barely able to bear his protests and helped him come with his fingers and tongue. He didn't feel disgusted, he didn't even think about it. He wanted to know his taste, he wanted to know everything about him. When John trembled with pleasure, he watched his reactions with real desire. He remembered every muscle twitch, every movement, and place that vibrated in spasms. But for John, it wasn't enough. He was barely conscious, he pulled him to his body, surrounded him with all limbs and almost forced him to enter him again. Mycroft didn't mind. He wanted to feel pleasure with John. Despite the initial pain and discomfort, he noticed on his face, the unpleasant moments turned into another dose of moaning, pleading and stronger pushes. The pleasure was so great that after a few moves, Mycroft shuddered, froze, let out a loud moan and fell on the satisfied John, cuddling in his hot and wet body. They did it two more times that night. They were still not satisfied. They wanted and desired each other. They did not fall asleep until morning, but after three hours of rest, Mycroft wakes up suddenly to see if John was still there. He couldn't sleep anymore. He watched the doctor's restful sleep while arranging things linked to the new day.

"Are you already flirting with others already?"

John's sleepy voice caught his attention. He smiled under his breath and put the phone on his stomach. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, John," he muttered merrily, leaning over and kissing his forehead. "What suits you is sarcasm. Come on, say something sarcastic, I know you feel like doing it." He said with a smirk and hesitantly returned to talking with his assistant. He felt strange, having to assure her that delaying the morning meetings would not be necessary and that he could easily prepare all necessary documents. He had an excellent mood, which probably could be felt because the answers he received from her were saturated with subdued anxiety and not professional indifference.

"And look who's saying that." John changed his position. He buried his face in a white pillow and looked at Mycroft's profile. "Is this what all our mornings will look like?" he asked, yawning. "If so, I still have to think about it."

Only the amusement in his voice made Mycroft not freeze in surprise and fear. He put down the phone, then hung over John, taking away his possibility of movement, pressing him into the mattress with the weight of his body. "Too late, John. You have to get used to the thought that if you don't wake up with me, it's only because you wake up on a pile of cardboard boxes, or in a musty street, chasing with Sherlock one of those criminals of yours." Maybe he shouldn't mention his brother because he noticed the change on John's face. He leaned back a little, giving him space.

John sighed, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "I really don't want to go home," he said honestly. "I didn't argue with Sherlock, none of these things. I just ..."

"You would feel uncomfortable if he looked at you with that inquiring look," Mycroft finished, closely observing his reactions.

"Exactly," John nodded. "He would know right away what happened at night. I know it's ridiculous, in the end, he gave me the keys to your house. He suggested that I do what I have to do as soon as possible and that we end this strange situation. He said that otherwise, we both go crazy, and it makes no sense to delay the inevitable. But I'm afraid that nothing will be the same anyway. "

"Because it won't be. Everything has changed, John." Mycroft loved looking at the quick changes on his face, but he wasn't cruel. He quickly explained what he meant. "But between you and me, not you and Sherlock. You were and always will be friends. You know him. His world revolves around you. Which annoys me a little," he admitted, looking away for a moment. "I'm sure when you get back to your flat, Sherlock will be just like always, you won't even notice the difference."

"Are you so sure of that?" he asked less distressed and put his arms around Mycroft's neck.

"Have I ever been unsure of something?". When he bent to kiss him, and later, when he felt his warm mouth, he knew that he had managed to calm him down. He would never endanger him with unpleasantness. He also knew that Sherlock would never dare to do it too. He respected John too much and loved him like a friend. Yes, jealousy did its job, especially when it concerned a person like John. Mycroft knew what Sherlock could think and feel because he felt the same way when John wasn't so close to him, but he believed in his brother. He was sure that no matter how their life was supposed to be from now on, he would always stand next to his friend. So he didn't feel guilty kissing John and making love to him again this morning. He didn't feel guilty when the doctor's phone vibrated with messages, but he didn't let him read them. He had better things to do. The bed was shaking with thrusts and a vibrating phone. Mycroft knew perfectly well who was trying to contact John and what the messages were about, so he gave John a lift a few dozen minutes later, and went to work with satisfaction.

He felt strange thinking of the upcoming days, weeks, months, and who knows, maybe even years. Until noon he fulfilled his duties without any problems, but he could not keep seriousness. His closest associates looked curiously at his good mood. They didn't say a word, but he saw their smiles and glances. He was glad that although he had John in his mind all this time, he could function and work normally. He also had to admit that after such a pleasant morning he worked easier and more efficiently. He noticed that duties and meetings were less burdensome for him, conversations irritated him less, and he made decisions with a fresh mind. Sometimes he saw things from a different perspective, which surprised him immensely. Usually, before making a choice, he considered every possible option. It turned out, however, that a relaxed mind suggested other possibilities for solving problems. He was more than pleased with this fact. He decided to have lunch and see how John and Sherlock worked together after what happened.

Hopton Street was almost impassable because of road works. The possibility of getting somewhere across this street was minimal, so drivers avoided this place. Impatient drivers chose different roads. Others stubbornly drove on or turned back when they lost their patience. The situation was exacerbated by the fact that police cars drove around the area and yellow tapes hung stretched near the bridge at the banks of the Thames. The crime scene was surrounded by onlookers and Scotland Yard officers. Mycroft's car somehow pushed through the crowd and parked around the corner near a large residential complex. Holmes could see the commotion in the area. He also saw the efforts of the police and the crime scene fenced off with yellow tape. He only got out of the car when he saw John walking toward him. John was smiling and relaxed. He seemed pleased with the current situation and the presence of the corpse. Mycroft's assistant did not react, nor did the driver. They were both staring at the phones and discreetly ignoring the two men.

"It's your doing, right?" John asked, nodding in an unspecified direction. He already managed to steal a kiss from a genius who didn't mind.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and quietly tapped the umbrella on the pavement. "Are you suggesting I specifically gave the order to drop a corpse just to give Sherlock a job and distract his thoughts from you and what you were doing at night?" he smirked as he watched the area.

"I meant road work," John was honestly surprised, "but go on," he added with a grin.

Mycroft smiled back.

"Thank you," John said quietly. "I shouldn't be happy with this situation, but I was relieved when Sherlock contacted me and happily announced that Lestrade had finally found an interesting case for him."

Mycroft didn't answer. He saw real relief on John's face and was glad to be able to contribute to his good relationship with Sherlock. He doubted that his brother was willing to treat him the same, but time was the best doctor. They were patient, so he believed that one day he would be able to come to the crime scene and talk to John without the murderous look of his brother. He took the doctor's hand, wanting to feel his warmth for a while. "Ever since we got back to England, I've been getting messages and requests from our mutual friends. They want me to take you to the next congress." He looked into his eyes. "Would you like to accompany me?" he asked.

"As your fake husband?"

Mycroft tilted his head. "If you want. But I would prefer you to go as my chosen one." Without hesitating, he leaned over and grabbed John's lip between his lips. The kiss was quick but gentle and tender.

"I didn't know you were so sentimental," John said as they looked at each other.

"Me? Sentimental?" Mycroft grimaced. "How did you get this idea?".

"How? You still have the flower that I put behind your ear. You keep it on the bedside table."

"John!" Sherlock's voice spread around the area, not allowing Mycroft to answer. His voice was somewhere on the side of the crime scene. He shouted above the heads of the onlookers. He ignored Inspector Lestrade, who followed him all the time. "Hurry up, you have to see this!" he waved his hand and returned to the place where the body was found.

John gave Mycroft an amused look. He kissed him softly goodbye and went towards the crime scene to help his best friend solve the case of the mysterious man. Mycroft watched the small figure disappear somewhere in the crowd. He always wanted his brother to meet someone like John. A person he could count on anytime and anywhere. A person who supported him and endured his moods and unusual character. He wanted Sherlock to be happy and get to know the taste of a normal life. John Watson was the perfect partner for him, although he was not aware of his own uniqueness. If a few years earlier someone had told Mycroft that an ordinary military doctor would win over the hearts of the Holmes brothers, he would have laughed at them. But now he understood that uniqueness does not necessarily mean loneliness and contempt for everything that is ordinary, boring and normal for most people. The uniqueness in the company of the right person could give an unexpected effect. And he was just witnessing this extraordinary combination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story (at least for now). Thank you all for your support. I am incredibly happy I could translate and write for you. I hope we will meet in the next story. You are awesome. I am very curious about your choice.
> 
> If you were so kind and checked it (this is the summary of "Bloody Ring") - https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/CB93HPD
> 
> And also this (About next story) - https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/C6C6X6L
> 
> Thanks, guys!


	24. Sherlock/John/Mycroft (optional)

**Do I really want to do this?:)  
**

\---

"Excuse me, sir ...".

John knew someone had approached the bench where he was sitting before he heard the man's voice. The smell that trailed behind the stranger was too heavy with alcohol to make him have any doubts as to who he was going to talk to in a moment. He looked up, and despite the very early hour, he saw a short man with a leaky flat cap in his rough hands.

"...under ordinary circumstances, I would not dare to take your time." The man cleared his throat and once again straightened his gray hair. "But it was not difficult, even from a distance, to notice your good and logamus... lomis..." he fell silent and thought deeply, making his wrinkled face look like a prune now.

"Longanimous?" John finished for him.

"Oh exactly!" he shouted with unfeigned joy. The joy was accompanied by the relaxation of the muscles, which made the man almost lose his balance. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet. John knew it was due to the years of practice and exercise the man put through his body every day. "... longanimous face. So I thought I could allow myself to ask you ..."

"How much?" John asked. He set his nearly empty bottle down on the ground. "How much do you need?" he repeated the question, reaching for his wallet.

The man cleared his throat again, though it didn't help him much. "Basically, I try not to harass people, but ..." he paused.

John looked at the coins in his wallet, then took them in his hand. Seven pounds and thirty pence. That was all he had left after cruising around the city all night. He never thought he would spend a quarter of his salary in a single night. All the more so for something as pitiful as alcohol. He was slowly turning into his sister and beginning to understand her point of view. Most of the time, love and alcohol went hand in hand. Especially if love ran into problems. However, he decided that the bottle of beer lying next to the bench would be his last one that night. He thought no longer. He turned the hand that held the money and held it out towards the drunk man.

"Please, take it."

The man put his hand up. Until he sighed in excitement. He wiped his mouth and chin. "Honorable sir ... I will go to church, lie down, and I will thank you for your good, and I will pray for you" with an elegant gesture, he bowed to John to the very ground, simultaneously waving his flat cap in front of him. This time he was unable to control his body. He stumbled and fell to his knees, but not a single coin dropped from his clenched fist. He pulled himself together with John's help. He dusted off his trousers, put a worn cap over his head, and thanked John a few more times, finally melted into the darkness of the passage that separated the tall buildings.

John would have smiled under his breath if he had been in a different situation, but this time he was not laughing. He had been tormented for four days. The return from Venice turned out to be worse than he expected, not only because of the weather or the surroundings. It was true that the return to cool and windy London from hot Italy was not the most pleasant experience. If he could, he would stay in Venice for a while longer and enjoy the scent of the sea and the warmth of the midday sun. Of course, London had its advantages too. However, this advantage was not a painful return to the gray reality. It wasn't until the day after arriving that he realized that he had experienced something incredible, and at the same time he realized that nothing would ever be the same as before the decision to pretend to be Mycroft's husband. This very decision was the beginning of stress and self-tension. Sherlock reminded him of his mistake, though he does so unconsciously. John felt trapped every morning. Like a mouse caught in a trap and watched by a human, ready to do some experiment on it. Sherlock had pretended nothing had changed for several days, although he denied it with his actions. He watched him, remained silent, and avoided taking any matters, even though clients pounded on the door. All he did was sit in his armchair and watched him out of the corner of his eye. John was fed up after two days of vigorously avoiding sensitive topics. Every time he left the house, he was inundated by a friend with questions about where he was going, with whom, and when he would come back. As he returned, Sherlock watched him closely and deduced what he was doing. But leaving the apartment didn't solve anything either, and it gave him a headache. Wherever he went, whoever he met, he felt as if he had been followed. Not by Sherlock, but by his older brother. He often saw a black car sneaking past or driving out of a neighboring street. He was also convinced, that every camera in the city followed his movements. The feeling of being stalked and spied on was unbearable.

Worst of all, however, was that John slowly realized why the Holmes brothers were acting in such strange and suspicious ways. It took him a while to understand they were waiting for his decision. The thought of it hit him and almost knocked him off his feet. Was he going to decide what to do next? He? Why did they leave this type of decision in his hands, or rather on his shoulders? What was he supposed to do? What decision to make? Did they really think it was okay with him? Where did the idea come from that ... what indeed? That he would choose one of them? It was beyond his strength. Recently, his unfulfilled dream was to get closer to Sherlock. He dreamed of hugging him and maybe even kissing his beautiful lips. He knew it was unreal and out of his reach. And Mycroft? He had never ever thought of him THIS way. How could he? Older Holmes had always been cool and hard to approach, and the idea that he might want more from someone seemed absurd to John. Still, two weeks were enough to completely turn his life and reasoning upside down. Suddenly Sherlock's arms became more real. If he wanted to, he might have known the taste of his mouth for a long time. Who knows, maybe he would also dare to finally confess to him his hidden feelings? It was even stranger with Mycroft. He not only got used to his touch but also learned that he could be jealous and strangely possessive. At the thought of his fierce kisses and strong arms, which, with gentleness and firmness, would not let him go, John felt pleasant shivers down his spine. He realized that in a dozen or so days he got to know them better than in all the years together. It turned out that Sherlock looks at him differently than before, and Mycroft wants more than the theatrical holding hands in the company of other people. The idea that he had to decide what he liked more was unacceptable.

Flashing, intense blue light interrupted his thoughts. It reflected in the windows of nearby apartments. John knew he was going to have a long conversation with some police officer, but he would love to take the opportunity to spend the next few hours at the police station in the cell. It would give him some more peace. The thought of a single cell gave him courage, so he ostentatiously drained the beer bottle and emptied it in front of the approaching man.

"John?"

He turned his head. It was Greg. He was sleepy and barely conscious. He recently got out of bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning every five seconds. He was walking slowly towards him, his hand tucked into the pocket of his uniform trousers.

"What are you doing here so early in the morning?"

"And you?" John relaxed and leaned back on the bench, making room for the inspector.

"I'm going to work." Greg took a seat next to him. He leaned forward, yawned, and rubbed his face and hair. "On my way to the police station, I got a request to check if the area here was okay," his voice was slurred and muffled. "People have complained that some dodgy guy has been sitting in front of their windows for hours and he doesn't look like he's about to move," he gave him an eloquent look, and a smirk played on his lips. "Nice spot," he said, looking around the area. "There is no better view than concrete walls, smeared with spray and the stench of piss. The neighborhood can almost compete with Venice, huh?" he asked with a smile that faded quickly because John was in no mood to joke. Greg realized he shouldn't pursue the topic, although he was very tempted. He cleared his throat and sat comfortably on the bench. "Why are you sitting here, John?"

"There are no cameras here."

The inspector frowned. He didn't understand what that answer meant, although lately, he hadn't been keeping up with what was happening on Baker Street anyway. "You know, Molly came back completely different from that trip," he changed the subject, "She's so much happier as if she found a new part of herself there. She surprised me when she called and said she wanted to meet."

John knew exactly what Greg was talking about. Molly asked him on the plane if she should contact Greg. She must have finally understood that Sherlock would never be closer to her than he was right now. John was very happy for her because her short but intense relationship with the inspector seemed to be going in the right direction. "I'm glad," he said, though he couldn't get enough enthusiasm. He would have liked to drink something, but the bottle was already empty. Like his wallet. "Really, Greg. I wish you all the best," he added, looking straight ahead. He could feel his fellow inspector's gaze, but he preferred not to show him that his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Molly also told me" Greg rested his elbows on his legs and looked at the pavement under his boots, "that she saw a different side of you and Sherlock" his voice was not as sure as it had been a few moments ago. It was as if he was afraid of John's reaction, or ashamed of the direction of their conversation. "She said she didn't see Sherlock ever so focused on some task. And you so happy. She said a lot has happened between all three of you ... or the four of you, I should say." He shyly cast a glance at John. It was hard for him to deduce what he was thinking because his expression did not change. "Listen...".

This time John looked in his direction, and the slightly frowning eyebrows smoothed out. He looked contrite now.

The sight of John's expression made Greg clear his throat again and rub his neck nervously. It wasn't easy for him. He felt uncomfortable and overwhelmed that he had to make his friend aware of such things. "As long as I've known Sherlock, he always seemed ... different to me. I didn't care if he had anyone or if he was even interested in ..." at this point he made a strange hand gesture as if it was supposed to replace that, what he couldn't say out loud, "... you know what I mean. When Molly told me ..." he fell silent again, "... about all of this, it's a shame to admit it, but I was shocked. But I immediately realized that it makes sense. Since you two met, you've become his number one. He always followed you and sought your attention. Although he indeed did it in his own strange way. I understood that was how he showed you... "Christ, it was hard for him," that he loves you, "he said slowly and stiffly, not believing he was doing it. "And I stopped wondering. The more I think about it, the more I am angry that I didn't realize earlier," he paused, but not for long. "As for his brother ... I can't say anything. I don't know him. I've only had contact with him a few times in my life and ..." he shuddered at the mere mention of their meeting, "I don't know what's going on between you, but I can only imagine. No, actually not. I'd rather not do that, it's none of my business, "he said, though he was consumed by curiosity. He would not admit to having listened to Molly's story about John and the Holmes brothers fighting for his favor.

John, who had been silent so far, rubbed his tired eyes. "You know, Greg. If someone had told me two weeks ago that we would be talking about this one day ...".

Greg laughed with his characteristic hoarseness. "I know. But life is not a directed movie. It will surprise us more than once." He smiled and relaxed. Tension gave way to relaxation. He was pleased and a little surprised that John did not object and listened to him calmly. It was as if he accepted himself and the whole situation. As if he was relieved that he no longer had to pretend to be someone he was not. Their eyes met for a long time, and Greg felt he should be courageous enough to show him that he was supporting him like a friend. "Whatever's between you, John, remember that Sherlock will always be your friend. That won't change. But you have to seize the moment and seize your luck before it runs away like ..." he mused, because he couldn't think of any an adequate comparison, "like some little kid who smeared a spray on the wall".

A slight smile appeared on John's face. Greg's comparisons have never been too sophisticated.

The inspector saw the change on his face. He was relieved that this conversation was over. "Alright!" he said aloud, patted his knee, and looked at his watch. "No more sitting here and scaring old women. Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

Under other circumstances, John would have likely declined a similar offer, but not this time. The idea of a long walk home through the cool alleys, in a rather unpleasant part of London, took away the pleasure of walking alone. Besides, he had walked enough miles that night, which he felt in his legs. The fact that he had quite a lot of alcohol in his blood didn't help either. With relief, he followed Greg and clumsily climbed into his car. The inspector was nice enough to buy a cup of hot coffee for himself and John on the way.

"You look terrible," Greg said, handing him steaming coffee.

John replied with a smile. He knew what he looked like. He had been living in a trance for several days. He rarely ate, slept little, and thought a lot. At the same time, he tried to avoid long conversations with Sherlock. Greg's words about catching his happiness and using it as long as he had the chance still rang in his head. He was frustrated by the thought of how much time he had wasted without seeing clear clues. Now he realized Sherlock's feelings and how much he had done for his sake while renouncing his own. And Mycroft? This short, intense romance happened so quickly and unexpectedly that John didn't quite understand how it happened. One day they were almost strangers to each other, and the next they wanted each other's kisses. It was too sudden and weird to just get over it. What was he supposed to do? Pretend that nothing happened? Or that he still didn't understand and didn't see Sherlock's feelings? No. Both brothers obviously expected a decision from him. It was hard, but if he was going to listen to Greg's words to catch his happiness and not regret it for the rest of his life, he had to do it.

"Good luck!" Greg yelled from behind the steering wheel as he pulled his car to a stop on the Baker Street.

John raised his hand in goodbye and looked at the apartment windows. It was early in the morning. The shops were still closed and the traffic on the street was just starting. He hoped the early hours would save him from talking to Sherlock. He was going to get enough sleep and reconsider his decision. When he opened the door, the hope vanished as quickly as the coffee in his cup. He heard the soft sounds of a violin, as well as a sudden silence that meant Sherlock was aware of his return. He sighed. Each step up the stairs was getting more difficult and slower. His body seemed to fail him immediately. He went on the higher floor, and when he opened the door, his heart stopped beating for a moment. He saw Sherlock staring directly at him, as well as Mycroft, who looked like he was preparing to leave. There was absolute silence in the room. The sun's rays shining through the windows, illuminated the dusty living room, but it prevented John from examining the Holmes brothers closely. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out at least a scrap of emotion in their faces. He sniffed. He smelled two perfumes. The soft scent of Mycroft and the slightly sharper but still nice cologne that Sherlock used. The brothers were as silent as he was. They stood there, staring at him. And he realized there was no point in dragging it out. Broken heart. What did it matter when it was supposed to burst? Now or tomorrow? The pain will be the same anyway, regardless of the environment and time. No matter how prepared he would be. Sherlock and Mycroft expected him to act and make a decision, so the further delay was only delaying the inevitable. He swallowed and gasped, his fingers involuntarily tightening around his empty coffee cup.

"Have you been in XOYO?

He frowned. He was not surprised by Sherlock's question, after all, he was familiar with his gift of deduction. What surprised him more was his friend's hoarse voice. Sherlock sounded like he had been silent for a week and had only now regained the ability to say something aloud. Also, he sounded so gentle and insecure as if he wasn't sure of his own words. As if talking to a friend was a privilege for him that he had been waiting for a long time.

Sherlock must have been aware of how brittle he sounded in John and Mycroft's ears because he cleared his throat and straightened even more. "I thought you hated this place because of the music they play there." This time he sounded normal, though there was still a subtlety in his voice. He put the violin on the table and slowly buttoned his jacket, looking at John. "You stayed there for an hour," he said with a hint of admiration.

Figuring out where he was and what he was doing didn't surprise John as much as the fact that Sherlock could also figure out the amount of time he spent there. John assumed he also knew about the amount of alcohol he drank. He nodded with a barely visible movement. He was about to reply, but Mycroft soft voice interrupted him.

"One and a half ..." he muttered under his breath. He loved to correct his brother, although this time he did it out of habit. He sounded like he just couldn't help himself. Instantly he twisted the tip of the umbrella into the floor.

John noticed the dark bags under his eyes. Mycroft looked like he hadn't slept since they last saw each other. He avoided his gaze. It was also obvious that their meeting was accidental. He wasn't going to confront him right now. He was focused on Mycroft, but heard a grunt of discontent from Sherlock.

"Forgive him, John." Mycroft finally straightened up. "He couldn't sleep and he is and frustrated now." He looked him straight in the eye and nodded at Sherlock, then looked away at his brother a moment later. "Please, Sherlock," he said softly, as if afraid to destroy the peace in the living room, "consider what I told you." The brothers stared at each other for a moment, but Mycroft was the first to let go. He slung the handle of his umbrella over his left forearm, and he prepared to reach out to John.

"Actually, I'd like to talk to you." John was surprised at how decisive his voice sounded, given what he had to communicate. He watched Sherlock's eyes fill with relief and a strange joy. He did not have time to look at his older brother's face. His best friend's loud clap forced him to focus all his attention on him.

"Finally!" Sherlock was grinning. "It took you a long time to make a decision."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft was indignant with his brother's sudden outburst of joy, who didn't seem to care at all.

"You can go back to your work now, Mycroft," he said and approached him with a gesture inviting him into the hallway. "I will inform you later about John's decision. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone with him." He stood beside Mycroft but dared not push his brother, who stood firmly in his place. "Your presence will not be necessary," he said in a slightly more irritated tone.

John watched once again as the geniuses looked at each other intensely. There was tension in the apartment, and he knew that if he didn't discuss the whole situation with them now, he wouldn't have a more appropriate moment later. Brotherly love does not cover up the resentment and reproach that had apparently poisoned the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft for many years. He sighed, which strangely caught their attention.  
  
"Give me ten minutes." He could feel their eyes on him as he headed for the kitchen. He put the empty cup on the table. In his mind, he was glad for his laziness, because his suitcase full of clean clothes, was still lying near the fridge so grabbed it as he walked through the corridor. Before he closed the bathroom door, he heard as Sherlock sat down in his armchair and the soft footsteps in the living room that must have been Mycroft's. Alright. They decided to wait for him. He sincerely hoped they didn't have time to argue before he got out of the shower.

A soft click told him he was alone. Alone with his reflection in the mirror. He could see his puffy eyes, a pale face, faded hair with single silver streaks. As he undressed, he could not understand what the Holmes brothers saw in him. He was an ordinary person with a traumatic past. How did someone like Mycroft Holmes even notice him? And Sherlock? Yes, he knew how much they owed each other and how much they meant to each other. But how did their friendship develop into something more? How could Sherlock look at that tired face, and yearning for kisses? He didn't understand it, but ... Does everything about love have to be obvious?

John shook his head, shielding his eyes from the water that cooled his body. He knew he should no longer think about love and its consequences in the future because it was confusing his mind. He had already made up his mind, and he knew he was doing the right thing. He stood in the shower, thinking about nothing. He allowed his body to rest and prepared himself for the upcoming confrontation. They really wanted to hear his decision? Okay then. He will grant their wish. He didn't know how long he stood under the water. He guessed it was a long time because the skin on his fingers was wrinkled. He cooled down. He felt better and was ready to talk. He gratefully looked at the clothes Mycroft had decided to give him as a gift. The same clothes he was wearing in Venice suddenly became a symbol of the love and strange devotion that appeared so unexpectedly between them.

As he left the bathroom and approached the living room, he noticed the impatience on Sherlock's face as he sat in his armchair tapping his foot on the ground. Mycroft was standing by the fireplace, poking with the tip of his umbrella against the protruding pieces of wood, keeping his other hand tucked deep into a pocket of elegant trousers. They heard him and looked at him. John suddenly felt an overwhelming responsibility. He was concerned about how they would react and how much the minutes ahead would decide the rest of his life. He looked at their faces, but Mycroft's strange expression forced him to focus on him longer. Mycroft was pale. Paler than John remembered it before going to the bathroom. He was standing stiffly with his back very straight. His hand was clasped on the umbrella handle. To the untrained eye, this would appear to be his usual attitude. However, John knew what caused this behavior. Fear. One glance was enough for Mycroft to guess what he was going to hear and what the consequences would be.

"You'll have to forgive me after all," Mycroft said, taking his phone out of his jacket pocket. "This is not the time for serious talks," he said in his haughty tone. "I have an appointment, so if you please excuse me..." he took a step towards the door, but stubbornly refused to meet anyone's eyes, "let's postpone it..."

"You're not going anywhere," John said without moving. He looked at them with their arms crossed as he stood in the center of the living room. With his words and his firmness, he surprised Mycroft, who stopped moving and fixed his eyes on him. John sighed. "Since returning from Venice, you have been letting me know that you are waiting for my decision. I realized it not long ago. But how can you do this?" he asked with anger, and in an instant, he realized he had made a mistake by thinking of it that way. It wasn't their fault. They gave him free will and waited for his decisions. They were aware that they would have to submit to the decision he would make. The thought flashed through his mind that perhaps he was making a mistake. "How could I ever let that happen?" He rubbed his eyes, tired of the whole situation. He heard a small sigh belonging to Mycroft. He heard only him. Sherlock was silent and tried not to draw attention to himself. It was as if he was afraid to remind them that he was there too.

"John, it's not a very responsible thing to making decisions at this hour and in your state." Mycroft was once again using the perfected tone of the all-knowing genius. "Not to mention, sober thinking is not possible in your case right n...".

"Would you please shut up for a moment and listen to what I want to say?" He exaggerated. He knew it, but emotions were starting to take over him. He was afraid of what he was about to say, and the discussion with Mycroft only irritated him. Especially since he was trying to sound like someone who was not involved in this case at all.

Mycroft paused, gritting his teeth. "I'm trying to reason with you," he replied in a calmer but still cold voice.

John shook his head, snorting with a sarcastic smile. "Do not try playing this game with me, Mycroft Holmes. Pretending to be uninterested and haughty does not impress me.

Mycroft cut him off in mid-sentence with a soft purr of amusement. "You have always been confident. The question is whether you mistake it for audacity. To say that you know me enough to admonish me is a very bold thing to do."

"You're doing it again" John bit his lower lip visibly irritably for a second, never taking his eyes off him. "You are hiding behind a mask of coldness, although you know very well that I don't believe in it anymore. Or at least I don't believe that you really are like that towards the people you care about." John felt a storm of emotion building up inside him. He couldn't hold them any longer. He also knew that Mycroft had to hear a few words of truth to clear the atmosphere. "In my whole life, I haven't met a person who has mastered the art of pretending as perfectly as you. You play a pompous, snobbish asshole who has to treat others with kindness just because common interests require it. You are arrogant and whenever you can, you show your superiority and power". John felt his face turning red and his heart beating like mad. He had a hard time meeting Mycroft's eyes.

"I know you're really aren't like that and ... you have no idea how this pretending of yours is pissing me off," he added determinedly. "You try to push others away at all costs because you are afraid of attachment. You prefer to be alone and you want to be sure that your feelings will not be hurt. This is selfish and cowardly of you". He heard his own footsteps as he started walking around the living room. He could feel Mycroft's gaze all the time. He looked at Sherlock and noticed that the younger genius was sitting in his armchair, staring at the carpet. He was depressed, pale. John's words had hurt him as well.

"You have been alone for so many years and you rely only on yourself. You have gotten used to being lonely and you have not even noticed how your behavior affects Sherlock." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his best friend flinch. "You two are so different ... and at the same time you are the same." Now comes the most difficult part of the conversation. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Sherlock. But he started and had to finish it. He took a deep breath, turning to his friend.

"Sherlock ... why exactly did you come to Venice?" he asked, taking a long pause. Perhaps it was because he had been waiting for an answer, or perhaps because he wanted to give Sherlock time to figure this out himself. "At first I thought your behavior was just a whim, but when we got home nothing had changed...". John paused, rubbed his eyes, and found out that he had been standing in one place for a while, his hands clenched nervously. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just a pawn in your game. But I keep telling myself that you can't be such a sophisticated asshole who doesn't pay attention to the feelings of others. And suddenly I remember how you acted on the third day." He thought back to the moment Sherlock was treating him like air. He himself had not realized how much it had hurt him then. "Even if you had a reason for it, you didn't have to treat me like your lab rat. Why didn't you just talk to me? Do you really have to compete with Mycroft in everything?" He had to end this discussion for the sake of both himself and two geniuses. He shook his head. "Besides, you are rude to clients and strangers, you do not care about the opinion of others, you alienate them with your contempt and you are incredibly ignorant on some topics. You don't care about the sanctity and about the feelings of the people around you. Sometimes I really struggle with the urge to hit you."

He couldn't bear to look at Sherlock's face any longer. The pale face of his friend was now painfully contorted in pain and embarrassment. He still refused to meet his eyes. The clenched jaw and the lack of any movement showed that he was still processing the words he heard. Sherlock looked like a scorned child whose heart was shattered to pieces. John couldn't take it anymore so he repeated the last sentence to emphasize what he was about to add. "Sometimes I want to hit you, but most of the time I dream about kissing you."

Sherlock's head jerked so quickly John almost flinched at his startled gaze. Sherlock stared at him without saying a word, and John knew it was THIS moment. The moment he so feared and wished it would happen. Finally, he had the courage to confess what he had been hiding for so many years. Sherlock sat silently as if waiting for his next words. John noticed that his friend was trying not to breathe, so as not to disturb the moment. _Forgive me, Mycroft._

"I love you".

Done. He said it. From the very beginning of his acquaintance with Sherlock, he wanted to tell him that. He felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of his own voice. The pleasant butterflies in his stomach, however, were no match for the mixture of emotion he saw on Sherlock's face. His facial expressions changed too quickly for John to have a chance to name any feeling radiating from his friend's face. If the situation was different he would have already walked towards him with open arms and mouth ready to be kissed and caressed. He decided to continue and did so at the last moment because Sherlock was getting ready to get up from his armchair.

"I had to say it first because you would never do it ... At least not using words." He looked down. He tried to control his emotions and his raging heart. "I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner." He rubbed his eyes again and took a step towards the window. For a moment he focused on the streaks of rain and dark clouds that engulfed the streets of London. "I was too much of a coward to say it, even though I really wanted to. At first, I had to question who I was and who I wanted to be in the eyes of others. I was afraid of the reaction and rejection of my family, friends ..." he paused and added shaking his head with disapproval "...and people who are strangers to me". He realized how much time he had wasted, fearing something that didn't matter anyway. "From the beginning, I admired you for not pretending to be somebody you are not and for always being yourself no matter what the situation." He turned his head towards Sherlock. He felt a bit calmer. "I love you for the fact that, although you are sometimes awkward in dealing with emotions and feelings, you devote yourself to people who are close to you and I love you for what you are able to do for them."

He noticed how his friend's gaze softened, how his breathing quickened, and he tried with all his might to control the flow of words that were surely popping up in his head.

"Every time you play the violin, your fingers hypnotize me. They are so delicate when they touch the things that are important to you. I love the way you turn your coat collar up and the way you look at me I love your unsurpassed mind, your nonchalance, and your loving way how you treat Mrs. Hudson, even if you are purposely mean to her". He turned the body completely towards the geniuses. "I love you for all of this."

The silence in the room was broken by the soft tap of rain against the living room windows. If they focused, they would hear the radio in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen who was bustling one floor below. John's ears, however, were dominated by the thudding heart and the rushing blood. He looked into his friend's eyes, feeling all determination to reassure him about his love, turned into flushes on his face. Suddenly his throat felt dry and he almost looked away, but one glance at Mycroft stopped him. John couldn't take his eyes off the older brother because the sight of his face almost broke his heart.

Mycroft stood motionless by the fireplace, staring at Sherlock through half-closed eyes. The white skin of his face contrasted with the thin line of his mouth, curving into a depressing smile. A smile of regret, joy, and relief at the same time. He was breathing shallowly. He stood straight only because he was leaning on his umbrella. Mycroft didn't need to say anything, but John felt numbness, resignation, and pain emanating from him. The sight of a dejected genius who did his best to save his face but was also happy for his brother's happiness was hard for John to bear. He wasn't surprised, when he had to immediately forget his sentiments and move towards the door, because Mycroft nodded slightly and softly, calmly signaled that he was going to leave them alone.

John covered the door with his body, crossing his arms. He managed to keep still when the older genius approached him and put his hand on the doorknob. Their eyes met for a long time. They stared at each other for several seconds without speaking.

"Is there anything you want from me?" Mycroft asked in a steady voice.

He wanted to shake his head because Mycroft was showing once again that he knew how to act like a sophisticated gentleman. He towered over him in a rather elegant and appealing posture and did not allow himself to show his true emotions.

"I knew you were going to do this," he said, standing in a proud but not provocative manner.

A faint spark of irritation ran across Mycroft's face.

John noticed this not for the first time and once again realized how much he had learned about him in just two weeks. "Earlier you pointed out to me that I leave the apartment when I avoid confrontation but now you do exactly the same thing," he continued, squinting at the increasingly distinct change in the genius's face. "Don't think I don't know what's on your mind and what you're going to...".

The sarcastic "Oh" made him grit his teeth. Mycroft's annoying smirk and the mask he immediately put on his face were getting on his nerves.

"Then be kind enough to make me aware ..." the genius interrupted him with a still sarcastic smile, "what do you think I'm going to do?"

He didn't have to think. "You will pretend that the current situation does not concern you. You will leave the flat and cut off contact for a few days, maybe weeks. And then you will show up here again and act like this conversation" at that moment he looked at Sherlock and made a hand gesture, "and our trip did not happen at all ".

Mycroft slowly removed the mask he had put on a few seconds earlier. The mixture of emotions in his eyes was too complicated to be able to name it. He was silent, which made him seem not only like a hurt man, but as if he was about to pounce on someone and free himself from unspeakable feelings.

"Then" he began in a slightly weak voice and inaudibly cleared his throat, "I'm not going to disappoint your expectations, John," he added more confidently. "I will do exactly what you told me to do."

John pressed his arm against the door even more, blocking the genius from leaving. He couldn't accept that Mycroft was just going to leave like this, although on the other hand John understood him, and knew that this kind of behavior perfectly suited him.

"Could you please start talking to me as if I were a normal person and not one of your coworkers?" He asked. "When things start to get uncomfortable for you, you isolate yourself and build an invisible wall in front of you." Not good. He didn't want to hurt Mycroft, and he could barely hold his gaze. It made him feel like he was fighting with a double-edged sword. "You are hiding behind a mask of indifference and coldness ..." he continued, softer and softer, "but you love people who are dear to you. Especially Sherlock." He looked at his friend. "You are helping us, you turn a blind eye to our antics. And even now, when I see how much this conversation costs you, you are happy that your beloved brother is finding out what real love means." One glance at Mycroft's face convinced him that what he was saying was a reflection of the genius's true feelings. "I'm sure you've taken responsibility for what we've done more than once and saved our asses many times and we don't even know it," he added, not wanting to destroy the moment with unnecessary hesitation. "When you stop pretending to be an emotionless perfectionist and when you struggle with your habits and weaknesses, you are fascinating." At this point, he hesitated for a moment and focused on Mycroft's pupils. "How could I not fall in love with you?" he asked softly.

The genius flinched at the words but remained silent. Perhaps he did not know what to say, perhaps he was a little overwhelmed, or perhaps he was just surprised by this sudden confession. John was wondering if anyone had ever dared tell him this before. Perhaps some girl when he was a teenager, but he couldn't imagine anyone having the courage to do it now. Seeing Mycroft's surprised face and how he tried to understand the situation, John struggled with his thoughts. He was sure his decision was right, but his feelings told him something else now. However, acting under the influence of impulses, especially in this situation, had no right to exist. He had to act as he had decided earlier. He looked down. He rubbed his eyes hard, fearing his next words.

"I've never met people like you two before. If you only wanted, you could have absolutely anyone, that's why I struggled with my mind for a long time and I couldn't understand why someone like me ..." he paused. He had to do it differently. "But since you chose me, I will not question your feelings. After all, everyone has the right to love the other person and does not have to confess why they love them." A quick glance at the brothers assured him that they were listening carefully. Suddenly he felt the weight of his words. He rested his back against the door, folding his arms over his chest and hiding his face in his hand. "So many years in the military, so many years of self-discipline and training ... and only now did I realize what a coward I was. I was afraid to look in the mirror and admit to myself who I really am and what I want. And now, when I can have it, I'm too weak to do it. In fact ... I realized that I couldn't offer you anything in return. I hurt people important to me, even if I know it and don't want to do it. If only I had left my pride and uncertainty earlier...". He had a vision of his years together with Sherlock, and how different their lives would have been if he had confessed his feelings to him years ago.

"What are you going to say, John?" uncertainty and confusion filled Sherlock's voice. He was sitting on the edge of the armchair now, listening to him. He tried to understand where John's thoughts were leading.

John sighed, feeling a strange weight on his chest as if someone had put a pile of stones on top of him. "It is too complicated and too difficult. You gave me a choice. I never thought I would be in this situation." He looked at Sherlock, who had started to realize what was going to happen as the blushes slowly faded from his face and he was becoming pale. "Forgive me...".

"Wait a minute" Sherlock stood up and narrowed his eyes a little, holding his hand out in front of him as if he wanted to stop time and understand what was happening. "You mean...".

"That I can't do it," John finished calmly for him. "I can't," he repeated, barely holding his friend's gaze. "If I have to choose between you and Mycroft, then I have to listen to reason and reject what you are proposing to me. It is not an option for me to choose between you. I couldn't kiss either of you knowing that I was hurting the other one".

"John, what are you talking about?" Sherlock blinked rapidly several times, shifting from foot to foot, giving an expression of panic beginning to take over him. "You talked about how you felt and about love. I thought ...".

"Love is not that simple, Sherlock. It puts us in front of choices we never thought of before," John was starting to tremble. He was overwhelmed by the situation and the realization that he had talked about his feelings with the person who had was in the first place in his heart for so many years. "I love both of you and I cannot choose," he said decisively as if he wanted to reassure himself about the correctness of his words. He straightened up and gave each of the brothers a long look, but it was the younger that he focused the longest on. "I wish I had both you and Mycroft ... I know I'm a bastard ... a monster. I know this is selfish and that this is an absolutely unacceptable way of thinking. So despite the voices in my head screaming that I shouldn't do this ... I can't choose any of you. "

The silence in the room was overwhelming. Even worse than from a dozen or so minutes ago when the first declaration of love was made. This time it wasn't so pleasant. The situation turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and instead of joy and relief, the room was filled with sadness.

"I'm sorry," John repeated once more. Much too quiet. His voice would not allow him for more.

The ticking of the clock assured him of the passing time. Otherwise, he would have felt as if he was suspended somewhere in nothingness, without hope and without faith that it could have been better. The emotions slowly faded away. He was beginning to feel tired and depressed. It was difficult for him to focus on what was happening around him. This time he was unable to react when Mycroft made a move. The genius stood nearby without a word. They had nothing more to say to each other. At least for the moment. John moved away from the door when the delicate fabric and buttons of Mycroft's vest appeared before his eyes. Regret and anger made him unable to raise his head to meet his eyes. He wanted to disappear and forget what had happened that morning. As Mycroft leaned in to grab the doorknob, John felt his warm breath and the gentle scent of his cologne. He had to gather all self-control to not grab his tie and pull him down for a kiss, or stand on tiptoe and grab his lips between his. What had brought them together in Venice had ended moments earlier.

"It was nice to see you again", Mycroft's voice whirled in his ears.

He closed his eyes as he listened to his footsteps on the stairs, then the soft click of the door. Once they were alone, he finally looked up at his friend.

Sherlock was facing the window. He held a violin and a bow in his clenched hands. His straightened back, however, could not confuse John. Sherlock was in pain and the only option to save his face and not start an intense discussion was to stare at the rain falling outside the window. They both needed time. John knew they needed time to get everything straight, but he was too tired to think about the further consequences of his decisions right now. He turned and went up the stairs to his room. After three steps, he heard his friend's voice.

"Are you sure about your decision?"

No, but it didn't matter now. He did what he thought was best for them. "Yes," he hesitated for a moment.

He walked the rest of the way with his head bowed. His eyes were slowly becoming cloudy and wet. As he sat up in bed, the sad melody played by Sherlock and the hopelessness of the situation made him let his tears trace a path across his cheeks. Finally, he let his emotions take control of him. He cupped his face in his hands as the tears fell one by one onto the floor next to his feet. He was crying but was not sure why exactly. Because he buried his chance to live with Sherlock? Or was he crying because he had lost the possibility of being happy? Were these his last moments when he was so close to Mycroft? How could he look himself in the eye knowing that he had hurt them? He was so sure earlier that his decision was the right one, and now he was starting to regret it. The sudden sound of the interrupted melody caught his attention. He heard as Sherlock was walking across the room. Then his footsteps on the stairs and the slam of the front door.

\---

For the next few days, the situation on Baker Street did not change and the atmosphere was overwhelming. No other confessions were made. The conversations were limited to the usual, uncomfortable generalities. Sherlock was in no mood to helping his clients, he dismissed them with biting comments, or didn't speak at all, forcing them to leave. He ignored the Molly and inspector's calls. He wandered around the apartment in his pajamas and rarely left the kitchen, where he did pointless experiments, or at least wanted to give the impression that he was busy with something. John was not convinced that these experiences made any sense. His friend didn't seem interested in them at all. He rearranged the test tubes and for hours was staring at the prepared samples under his microscope. He ate little and smoked as never before. Even Mrs. Hudson's reprimands to hold back a little did not help. He gave her a tired look and started smoking again. John was silent. He felt neither ready to point out to him that he was poisoning himself, nor he was sure enough to believe Sherlock would listen to him. He tried to act normal, but it was not an easy task. After what he confessed, it seemed impossible to go back to what was earlier. They both knew about their affection, yet could not take the last step to their happiness. John knew whose fault it was, and although he had been sure he did the right thing, he began to regret his decisions with every passing hour. He lost the opportunity to be with one of the Holmes brothers and lost his happiness, so the only thing he could do was to remain silent and humbly accept what Sherlock was now able to offer him.

Mycroft was nowhere to see.

Mrs. Hudson, famous for her keen eye and knowing a lot about romance, realized that something must have happened between her beloved boys and that this "something" was different from the rest of the time when the atmosphere between John and Sherlock was tense. John could see how difficult it was for her not to comment and to keep her distance, so he was grateful every time he saw when she was fighting the temptation to ask one of them about the cause of a depressing situation. She avoided being upstairs frequently, she was cleaning up the mess in their flat without a word and was involving John in minor repairs and shopping when she saw as his face started to go pale under the pressure of Sherlock's heavy gaze. She tried to help them in her own way.

"... And remember about the tea. The one in the red box. The one in the yellow one is too bland."

John nodded in understanding and looked at his landlady as she smoothed his airy summer jacket.

"I didn't put it on my list, so try not to forget about it."

"All right, Mrs. Hudson. I won't forget", standing in the hall near the front door, John cast a glance toward the stairs.

"Oh, and if you will find, then buy some cookies for Sherlock as well, because he has been asking for in since yesterday ..." she paused, seeing his distracted expression. She stroked his face lightly to get his attention. "Get out of the house for a moment otherwise you will come up with some ridiculous idea." She tucked a shopping bag into his hand and gave him a kind smile at the same time. "I'll call you if I remember something I didn't put on my list".

John left the flat. Standing on the sidewalk, he felt that if he turned and looked up, his gaze would meet the sad gaze of his friend who was standing behind the dirty living room window. He was used to this look though it was one of the last things he wanted to get used to. He would have preferred to see Sherlock smile as he waited for his return, and it was killing him that it was too late for such reactions.

On his way to shopping, he stopped many times in front of shop windows. He looked at them attentively, trying to chase away the sad thoughts. He was walking down the main streets, looking for a familiar black car that was nowhere to be found. He felt disappointed and was angry at himself. He fought the urge to run to Baker Street and tell Sherlock that he had too much affection for him and would not be able to go back to being just friends. He wanted to call Mycroft and ask him to send the car while admitting his mistake. His fingers tightened on the phone, forcing himself to persevere in his decision. He broke both brothers' hearts, so he was no right to ask for their forgiveness. What's more, he loved them both, and he knew it was wrong. The only option was to accept the situation and try as hard as possible not to let his relationship with geniuses deteriorate. However, he was aware that he had hurt them and that if the situation did not improve, he would have to make more efforts to save what was left. He wondered if he could bear the thought of moving out, and what he would do if he lost touch with his best friend and with Mycroft.

Store shelves were full of unnecessary things. Even so, John spent long minutes carefully examining each thing. Standing near the cash register, he realized that he probably didn't have enough money, so he gave up half of the things. He was in the middle of putting them back when he heard his phone ringing. He answered after he was sure that it was his landlady who was trying to contact him.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson? I'm still in the store. Is there anything else you forgot?"

He heard no answer. Instead, he heard voices and a murmur in the background. He put the basket down and put his free hand to his ear, focusing on the sounds.

"Mrs. Hudson? Is everything okay?"

A long silence. He raised his eyebrows and hung up. Apparently his landlady had dialed his number by accident. He doubted she was in any danger when she was with Sherlock, but he decided to hurry up and come home sooner just in case. As he neared the cash register, his phone rang again.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Another silence. Only muffled voices. This time John decided to listen closely. He pressed the phone to one ear and his hand to the other one. He closed his eyes for better effect. It was a long time before he was able to concentrate on the conversation he heard instead of the children screaming around, their distracted parents, and teenagers listening to the music without any shame.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that...".

"I can't believe you've given up ... you're looking for a way out ... not your style ..."

"... almost a month ago and I already had the impression that there was something wrong with you ... now? I find it hard to accept that ...".

He thought it was the voice of Sherlock and Mycroft, but he heard only scraps of sentences and was unable to understand the point of the discussion.

"You should go home and rest. The thoughts of John made your blood drain from your head to your lower body and you can't think straight."

Yes, it was the voice of his best friend. It looked like, he was arguing with his brother, and Mrs. Hudson decided she will be spying on them. But why?

"Do you think I would have come here with this kind of offer if I hadn't thought it through?"

"I think you can't handle the feeling of losing and you can't sleep at night, looking for some solution."

"Losing? That's not what love is about, brother mine. A broken heart isn't the same as the feeling of losing."  
  
"How do you know that? I haven't noticed that you've been in a similar situation before."

"Sherlock ...".

"I admit that the idea of you proposing this solution to John works fine on my imagination, and in another situation, I might be encouraging you to embarrass yourself, but I cannot let you insult him with such an offer."

What were they talking about? What solution? John was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat. He shuddered at the thought that the Holmes brothers might have discussed how to resolve the situation, and Mycroft concluded that he should help them find another one place to live. The first drop of sweat did not manage to run down his back as John was already standing in front of the store, leaving behind his groceries and the strange looks of cashiers and old security guard. He had to wait a long time before he was able to focus his hearing again and recognize the words. It was all the more difficult as he was now walking close to the main street where all kinds of cars, buses, and motorbikes were passing him by. Only when he entered a nearby narrow and quiet street he could hear his friend's angry voice.

"You think John is as promiscuous as you?"

Mycroft responded after a long pause. "Could you be nicer to me for at least once?"

Silence. John thought he heard the rustle of the armchair. He could see his friend nervously adjusting his position in the armchair. He also imagined Mycroft's sour expression. The older genius allowed himself to look like that only in the company of his brother, and only when Sherlock made a nasty comment about him.

"We're talking about John," Sherlock said significantly, calmly. "When it comes to him, I can't be impartial."

"Nor see things from a different perspective" Mycroft did not wait for a reply. "You have always been a priority for me, but I got lost somewhere along the way. It seems like even I could not avoid that error. Human error, as you usually call it."

"I wouldn't call it like that when I am thinking of John."

"No. You're right" Mycroft's voice was soft. "In his case ...".

John jumped to the side, avoiding the car moving towards him. He took no notice of the threats coming from the open window and he ignored the driver's clenched fist. The discussion on the other side of the phone was getting more and more interesting.

"How do you imagine it?" there was a hint of sarcasm in Sherlock's voice. "Will you offer him Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and leave the rest of the days for me?"

"I would be lying if I said that this idea like that didn't pass through my mind," Mycroft replied, completely undeterred by his tone. "You don't have to give me that look, brother mine. The idea vanished from my head as soon as it appeared ... Stop frowning. I'm just being honest with you. You've always been looking for it".  
  
"I think it's quite the opposite. You've always been looking for my honesty," Sherlock's tone was bored and slightly irritated at the same time. "You didn't answer my question. How would you like to tell him? I'm dying of curiosity."

What the hell was that? What was this conversation about? John began practically running towards Baker Street. He could feel his heart beating furiously. He rushed forward, passed people watching him, and only stopped at pedestrian crossings to avoid encounters with speeding cars.

"I come to you with this first because I need to know your opinion." It was obvious from Mycroft's voice that he seriously hoped to convince his brother of his idea. "I don't want to hurt you ... I never wanted to. I made most of my decisions with your best interests in mind, even if I got into trouble because of it. But this time I'm not going to step aside and leave it without a fight ... I don't remember when was the last time I cared about something this much. "

John could imagine Mycroft's serious expression and Sherlock's much more fierce look. He imagined how they glared at each other as they sat facing each other by the fireplace. He was sure that was the situation on Baker Street right now.  
  
"You're repeating yourself. Recently I've heard enough about how you feel about him and how you want us to come to some agreement".

The gloomy, smelly passage between the buildings gave John the opportunity to listen closely. He heard one of them, presumably Mycroft, change positions in the armchair. He had to lean towards his brother right now and fix his eyes on him.

"I am not asking you for permission to contact him. At the moment our relationship is overwhelmed with emotion anyway. John will not change his mind until we both come to some agreement. Can you imagine losing touch with him, or that he will disappear from your sight?" this question was followed by a long pause. "By your expression, I conclude that you are aware of the accuracy of my words. If we want to keep him with us, I am afraid we have no other option. That's why I am asking. If there was any chance, would you be able to consider letting me into your life? ".

"For God's sake, Mycroft" the armchair rustled. Sherlock had to jump to his feet. "Don't say it like that. It sounds like you are offering us to live together and sleep in the same bed. I shudder at the mere thought."  
  
"You think the vision of you and John in an intimate moment doesn't make me furious or that I wouldn't feel jealous knowing what you two are doing?" Mycroft's voice was unchanged. Calm and confident.

Sherlock didn't answer for a long time, apparently carefully considering the words that came to his mind. When he spoke, his voice was slightly muffled, as if he had walked to a window or turned his back on his brother. "John has told me many times that love is about supporting, respecting, and trusting each other, but sex is important too. I love him, so, naturally, I think about it too. Of course ... if I could, if he would let me, I would want to spend nights together with him. And if I had him in my arms, I doubt if I would be able to let him go and let him go to you. "  
  
From the noises, John knew Mycroft had gotten up from his armchair as well. "Jealousy is normal when it comes to a love triangle. We both want him, but in this situation, I could accept that I wouldn't be the only man in his life. How about you?"  
  
John was very close to the flat now. He heard his own tired breathing. He could feel the sweat trickling down his body. Sweat caused not only by sprinting half the way from the store, but also by what he had heard so far. Right now, there was an extended silence on the other side of the phone. It took a few moments for him to recognize Mycroft's voice.

"You love him. For almost a decade you have struggled by his side, unable to tell him how you feel. Now that I offer you escape of the impasse, you invent obstacles to not agree with me."  
  
"This is not an escape of the impasse. I missed my chance. John is too stubborn and decent to agree to such an offer," Sherlock's tone was calm, a little tired and resigned.

"Maybe we should give him another chance to make a decision and stop guessing what he is feeling? Because in his case, it is sometimes really difficult to understand what he has in his head and what he is thinking about".

John was sure his friend had a small smile on his face. He knew his guesses were true when Sherlock spoke up. "That's right," he replied in a slightly amused tone.

"John would never have come up with such an idea of his own accord. We should show him that there is another option of rejecting both of us. We both know that he is struggling with his own decision."

John was barely able to hear their words and keep his sane mind. His heart pounded in his throat, and the blood rushed in his ears. He ran to the door, catching a glimpse of a black car parked in the street from the corner of his eye. The same car he had been looking for for several days. He was running with the phone pressed against his face.

"I'm afraid of his reaction. I can't bear the thought of disgusting him by agreeing with you and offering him this solution."

He pulled the handle, ran into the flat, and climbed the stairs, jumping every two steps.

"John is avoiding us anyway. He's probably already considering moving out, if we don't act now, soon may be too late for anything."  
  
He slowed down only to pick up Mrs. Hudson's phone, lying on the ground, and almost pressed into a crack under the closed door of the living room. He entered the room, flushed and sweaty and gasping for breath. His sudden entrance focused the eyes of the Holmes brothers. They looked surprised until they noticed the condition he was in and the two phones in his hands. Mycroft understood right away. Sherlock needed two seconds more. They fell silent, waiting for what he would say and how he would react.

"What ... w-hh ... what ..." he stuttered, unable to formulate the thoughts and questions that were raging in his head. One word chased the other, but neither could find a straight path out of his mouth. He had the feeling that the absurdity of the situation would crush him, that the floor he was standing on would collapse, dragging them all down. Due to the rapid breathing and the open mouth, he could not swallow. He needed a moment now to understand what was happening. He spent many years with the Holmes brothers. A lot has happened and despite the years, they did not stop surprised him. However, it never occurred to him that he would hear similar statements and proposals from their lips. So what if they were talking to each other, and the content of this conversation was only to be between them. The very fact that they were bringing up this delicate subject was crazy enough to force John to look at them completely differently. Were they seriously ready to make such sacrifices for him? How great and strong must have been their love that they even considered it? How did it happen that although they had competed with each other before, tried to irritate one another, now they came to a common conclusion and stuck to it, despite so many differences? Did they really consider ...

"Yes".

His questions were interrupted by Sherlock's confident voice. His friend must have been reading his mind right now.

"Whatever you think about, the answer is yes" Sherlock gave his brother an understanding look and nodded almost invisibly. He stood motionless between the armchair and the table, staring at him uncertainly.

John realized it was actually happening. That the brothers agreed on their decision. For some strange and yet incomprehensible reason, he felt calmer. As if the weight of the last few days was gradually fading from his shoulders. "Where did this idea even come from?" he asked less nervously, letting his body relax.

This time it was Mycroft who decided to take on the burden of the conversation. He turned his whole body to him. "John, listen" he cast a glance at the floor, then looked up. "You said a few days ago that you were a monster. But it was about the fact that you love two people, not about love. We fully understand your doubts and the reasons that led you to make your decision. Any normal person would have problems with that just like people who are directly affected by this matter. However, you must have realized for a long time now ... "he paused, thus trying to make John pay more attention," that neither of us is normal, thinking about this word the same as ordinary people. Whether it's good or bad depends on your point of view and self-esteem. For Sherlock and me, ordinariness and normality are not positive terms. We want to be true to ourselves, and if someone cannot accept it, It's not our problem. We rejected normality because we have a bad association with this word ... I guess you too since you decided to live with someone like my brother "he added with a slight smile. "Give up a normal, gray, and ordinary life. Forcing yourself to follow generally accepted norms will not make you happy."

The lengthiness of Mycroft's speech confused John, which must have shown on his face. He understood less and less what this statement was leading to. He was about to smile because he was aware of how much older Holmes loved to make statements that only he could understand.

Mycroft immediately decided to get to the point. "What I'm going to ask you is ... Will you reject normality and accept both of us? As you can see, we both agreed and we are completely at your disposal."

Too much information at once. John needed time. "I still have a hard time believing you came up with such an idea," he said, putting the phones in his pockets and brushing his hair back. For the first time since he entered the room, he looked away, unable to bear the pressure exerted by Mycroft and Sherlock's keen eyes.  
  
"Are you feeling disgusted?"

The fragility with which Sherlock's voice sounded in the room drew all of John's attention. He felt a sudden unpleasant dimple in his stomach, realizing that he had never heard or seen his friend as vulnerable and fragile as he was right now. As if he was preparing for the coming blow. Disgusted? A similar feeling never entered his mind when he thought of Sherlock or Mycroft.

"No," he said gently. "But definitely surprised and bewildered. You could never come to an agreement ... what happened that you are unanimous now?"

Mycroft cleared his throat softly. He blinked. He looked away and looked at John again. "Nothing connects people more than love and caring for the same person," he said, straightening his back.

They loved him. It was certain. The question was do they really loved him to the extent they claimed. If John had had enough courage, he would have lunged at them, drawing one to a kiss and the other to his greedy hands. But he knew the theory was one thing and practice was another. Before he could get carried away by his feelings, he had to be sure they knew what they were signing up for. That they will not regret a decision from which it will be difficult to withdraw later.

"What if I say I agree but don't want to maneuver between your bedrooms? What if I'm so selfish and depraved that I want to have both of you at the same time?" his cheeks were instantly flushed more. He didn't know how it was possible, because for a good few minutes his face was burning with shame and desire.

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at him silently, then exchanged a knowing glance a moment later. John watched with a racing heart as the older genius slowly walked towards him. Without rushing, examining him closely, only to glance at his body a moment later with a lascivious look. John felt his eyes burning on his hips, stomach, and then his chest and neck. He didn't have time for more, because Mycroft was standing next to him and blowing hot breaths straight into his ear.

"Then we're both depraved because I like the idea, too," he said quietly, running the tip of his tongue over John's ear.

John groaned and closed his eyes in pleasure. He felt Mycroft's warmth beside him, and something hard pressed against his thigh. He opened his eyes just as the older man put his hand on the back of his neck and pushed his tongue even deeper.

"You have no idea what you look like now" Mycroft muttered, teasing the delicate skin behind his ear.

He kind of knew. His silver, tousled hair must have made an unusual contrast to his flushed face and eyes that were hazy with excitement. He could barely see Sherlock walking towards them.

"If that satisfies you and makes you stay with me, I don't mind either." Red cheeks adorned Sherlock's porcelain face as he gave him a reassuring smile. "But give up the hope that I will be will be affectionate towards him," he added, looking at Mycroft with a little disgust. "This is a line that I will not cross."  
  
"It definitely crossing..." John breathed heavily, "all the lines I know." Because of Mycroft's wet and hot tongue, his delicate fingers clenching the back of his neck, and the smell of two perfumes mixing in the room, John had difficulty answering any questions.  
  
"And how do you like it? This journey into the unknown ..." Mycroft asked seductively. "Do you mind sharing your findings with us?"

Trapped between the two bodies, John was now able to concentrate on one thing. On his friend's lips. The last time he had watched him so closely was in Venice was when they wandered the narrow streets and when Sherlock pressed him against the wall. The difference was, this time John had no intention of pushing him away. Moreover, he held back from pulling him into an aggressive kiss. He didn't want their first kiss to be rough, wild, and devoid of that pleasant tingling sensation in their belly when their lips joined with a loved one for the first time.

He put a hand on Sherlock's neck. He met his eyes and pulled slowly downward, bringing his lips together in a gentle kiss. They rubbed their lips, pecking lightly and sucking the skin unobtrusively. John was patient, slow. He allowed Sherlock to enjoy their kiss for the first time and learn what he desired. He allowed him to deepen and control the kiss. He had to admit that his friend was a quick learner.

Sherlock grabbed John's face in both hands and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, catching greedily at his every sigh. He even began to chew on in to make him react more. Obstinacy and passion were full in Sherlock's kisses. He came even closer to John, crushing his body against his chest.

At that moment, John groaned because he suddenly lost contact with Sherlock's mouth. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend, who did not move an inch away from him. Sherlock glared at his brother, and he broke the kiss only to get his attention.

"Take that hand away," he said in a voice full of bitterness and anger. But he spoke quietly and calmly. He looked pointedly at his brother's forearm, possessively wrapped around John's chest.

"Are you that possessive, or are you not fond of the thought that you would have to touch me?"

John shivered at the elder genius's voice so close to his head. Despite the competition and resistance, he felt Mycroft loosen his grip and lower his arm.

"If you would be so kind, I prefer my body contact with you to be as little as possible." Sherlock continued to stare at him belligerently.

"We're going to be doing much more indecent things in a few moments...".

"Dear lord..." John interrupted their discussion, "... could you two shut up?" he stuttered suddenly as Mycroft's hand rested on the front of his trousers.

He widened his eyes and let out a sigh. This caused an immediate reaction from Sherlock, who started sucking his lips, and after a while, he pushed his tongue in without resistance. John tugged the lapels of his jacket and lost himself in a passionate kiss. At that moment he felt the movement of Mycroft who was standing now behind him, pressing his hard penis against his buttocks while rubbing the front of his trousers with his strong hand.

It was too much. John's knees softened with every second. He knew he couldn't take it any longer. He wanted to be in bed and feel the naked skin of both brothers.

"Bedroom?" Sherlock asked between kisses, reading his mind.  
  
"Bedroom" he confirmed an instant, "yes." He pulled Sherlock into a mad kiss and at the same time pushed him towards the kitchen. He reached behind him to grab Mycroft, but the older Holmes stayed behind. This cooled John's intentions a bit. He stopped and turned his head.

Mycroft stood beside the armchair. His chest rose quickly and irregularly. His cheeks were red and his clothes were completely disheveled. The jacket was in place, but the two buttons on the vest were already open. The hem of his shirt was sticking out of his elegant trousers. And his penis was trying to break through the material between his legs.

John calmed down after seeing that. "You're giving up?" he asked slyly, trying to hide the rest of his fears in his voice. He bit his lip as Sherlock gritted his teeth against his neck.

"I have to find something," said Mycroft, looking at them. He cleared his throat and straightened his matted hair. "I will be right back".  
  
John nodded in understanding.

"Take your time," said Sherlock, his lips glued to John's skin. "John and I won't miss y..."

"Shush!" John silenced him with a kiss.

They clumsily found their way to the bedroom. John tugged Sherlock's clothes not very gently. Meanwhile, his friend undressed him too and pressed his greedy mouth to every inch of his naked skin. By the time they got to bed, John's chest was covered by saliva and kiss marks. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as Sherlock put his tongue to the side of his neck while unfastening the belt on his trousers. Moments later, they were standing naked facing each other. They broke the kiss to look at each other's bodies. Their hard cocks rubbed against each other, arousing their lust. John didn't have time to enjoy the beauty of his friend's naked body because Sherlock put a hand on his chest.

The genius watched him for a long moment, his mouth slightly open, remembering everything he could see. Every birthmark, hair, and scar. He took a step forward, wrapped his arms around him, and began to leave gentle kisses along his neck, and John's shoulder. He tangled his fingers between his hair and finally looked into his eyes with a blurry gaze.

"My dear John," he muttered.

John has lost all self-control. Instead of pulling him for another kiss, he pushed Sherlock onto the bed, crushing him with his body and showering him with the touch of wet lips.

"Don't provoke me, Sherlock."

He heard his friend's gasps allowing him to do anything at the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock lay with his eyes closed and tilted his head back, taking advantage of every moment to feel his lips against his body. This encouraged John. The sight excited him to the breaking point. Every time he put his tongue to Sherlock's nipples and heard him moaning, he could feel his own penis twitch between his legs. He did his best not to rub against him because he felt that if he touched himself he could cum in no time.

"John ..." Sherlock was panting lauder. He was completely flushed and his hair was starting to stick to his sweaty forehead.

John knew what he wanted. One glance at his lying and begging friend was enough for him. He slowly kissed Sherlock's chest and began to going down, never taking his lips away from him. He froze as his face hung over his hot and quivering penis. Coquettishly he met his friend's eyes and blew cool air into his penis.

The muscles in Sherlock's thighs tightened, making his entire legs tremble uncontrollably.

John, still staring at Sherlock, kissed the inside of his thighs right next to his groin and then the base of his penis. He heard a loud groan.

"John!"

With one move he licked his entire length and took him in his mouth.

"A-aah!" Sherlock jumped up from the pillow and put a hand on his head. "Wait ... ah! John!".

He didn't listen. He licked the tip of his penis, then began taking it in his mouth. He hadn't done this in a very long time, but after a few moments, he remembered how to breathe and lowered his head even more, relaxing his throat.

"Haaa ..." Sherlock let out shuddering breaths. "Ah! Haa ..."

John could feel his friend's fingers tightening in his hair. He sucked him, licked him from the base to the tip. He caressed the scrotum carefully and pleased his ears with Sherlock's moans. Eventually, he looked up and saw one of the most beautiful sights in his life.

Sherlock stared at him completely overwhelmed with desire. He could barely keep his eyes open. His hair was in a total mess, and beads of sweat ran down his temples, decorating his red face. He was breathing deeply and gasping, trying to control his body. At one point, he reached into the bedside cabinet with a trembling hand and took a small plastic bottle from a drawer. He handed it to John without hesitation.

John looked at the bottle with slight skepticism.

Sherlock saw the look. He froze in place when he was putting a half-rolled pillow under his hips. "John? Are you okay?" he asked, and his face changed instantly. "You... don't want to?"

John blinked a few times, realizing that his hesitation was putting his friend in an embarrassing situation. "Sherlock ... it's not that ..." he stuttered. "I really want to, but ... are you sure? Do you realize it's a bit too much for the first time? It takes some time and experience."

Sherlock's face relaxed. The uncertainty that appeared for the moment in his eyes vanished. Negative emotions were replaced by a mixture of shame and something John couldn't name at the moment. He was silent, giving John meaningful looks.  
  
The thought that his friend might have 'trained' before, hit John like lightning. His eyes widened, and a small smile appeared on his lips, though he tried to control it. It was all the more difficult for him when Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away. "Since when?" he asked, opening the bottle.

"From the day you went with Mycroft to Italy," Sherlock said casually while shrugging his shoulders.

John shook his head. He imagined Sherlock, locked in the bedroom or bathroom, getting ready for him, hand between his thighs, face flushed, focused on the phone screen as he read all kinds of guides webs. He bit his lip and took a huge amount of vaseline. He leaned over Sherlock and looked deep into his eyes. He watched his reaction as he slowly smeared the vaseline around the shaking and clenched hole. He gently massaged the sensitive skin, filling his eyes with the sight of his friend.

Sherlock was breathing hard, but he was looking at him back. He held John's arm and spread his legs even wider to make his task easier. He sucked in a breath as the first finger entered him almost to the knuckle. He groaned every time John started moving his arm faster. He grabbed his neck and brought their foreheads together.

"Oh god," John sighed, "This is crazy."

"People always said Mycroft and I were freaks," he said with a slight smile.

John frowned. He stopped Sherlock from pulling him to a kiss. He stared straight at him for a long moment. "Kiss me with other words on your lips."

Sherlock didn't wait long. He licked dry lips, took a deep breath, and stared at his best friend. "I love you".

It was enough. John tumbled towards him, his lips pressed together and kissed passionately while adding a second finger. He let Sherlock chew on his lower lip and hammer his fingernails into his shoulder. He swallowed his sighs. The wild kiss lasted until he was able to insert a third finger.

Sherlock lost his temper and was breathing deeply. "Ah!" he groaned, tightening his abs as John hit his prostate. "Ah!"

John put his lips to his friend's chest. He could hear and feel his heart beating under his skin. With his free hand, he massaged his penis, doing it slowly and thoroughly, wanting to drive him crazy. He was successful because Sherlock was getting more and more impatient. He ran his fingers through his hair, lifting his hips meaningfully. John, too, was on the verge of endurance. He quickly licked the genius's penis, enjoying his desperate moan, and sat down between his legs. He was removing his fingers when suddenly the door to the room swung open and Mycroft stepped in, drawing all his attention.

Older Holmes looked at them with no specific expression on his face. He was standing still. Proudly, without saying a word. His elegant posture did not match what he had just witnessed. It was a long time before he made a move. He entered the room, slowly closed the door, and focused on John, who was still staring at him.

John shuddered as the genius slowly walked over to the bed, put his finger between his shirt and the tie knot, and removed it in one move.

"John!" Sherlock must have had enough and wanted to get his friend's attention again.

He was about to turn his head, to look at Sherlock, but Mycroft leaned forward and grabbed his lips between his own. He kissed him gently, tenderly. After a few seconds, they broke apart, and John noticed that Mycroft had pulled something out from his trousers' pocket. He smiled, shaking his head. "It scares me that you had it with you all the time," he said, looking at the packet of condoms between his fingers.

"I've learned to be prepared for anything when I am with you." He had already taken off his jacket and vest.

John watched him with a smirk. "Don't tell me that you have one for Sherlock too..." he stopped as Mycroft held out his hand with a different packet of condoms to giving it to his brother. He didn't know what to say, but he wanted to laugh aloud at Sherlock's genuinely disgusted expression. Interestingly, after a while, the younger genius accepted the gift without a word and looked at it closely.

"Seriously, Mycroft? I know you love to have control over everything, but even your inquisitiveness should have its limits," Sherlock said with irritation in his voice.

"Don't worry, I don't have that specific information about you. About your..." he stopped, nodding his head and looking at his brother's penis meaningfully, "I was improvising."

"What about me?" John asked, breaking the awkward silence.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked around John, unbuttoning his shirt. He put his knee on the bed and leaned over his ear. "Ask Sherlock if you will need it," he suggested, blowing hot air into his flushed ear.

John shivered. It was like that every time Mycroft initiated intimate contact. He couldn't help feeling a bit dominated around him, and for some reason, he's been enjoying it a lot lately. He looked at his friend who nodded. The touch of raw flesh, Sherlock's interior, and boundless trust was everything to him at the moment. He sat more comfortably between his friend's open legs. He smeared some vaseline all over his penis, put the tip right next to the sensitive hole, and waited. Not for permission, but for a moment when Sherlock was ready. He could feel Mycroft taking off the rest of his clothes behind his back, then the gentle hands caressing his ribs.

Sherlock bit his lip and relaxed enough for the tip of John's penis to slide into him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

John was fascinated by the sight and overwhelmed by feelings. The cock slowly melted into the hot hole of his friend. He could feel throbbing. Rubbing the skin. Halfway up, he leaned over Sherlock and pressed his body against him. His friend clung to him, wrapping his arms around him. They were pressed together, cheek to cheek, chest to breast, stomach to stomach. Surrounded by their arms in a tight embrace. John finally entered completely and froze in place.

John was trembling with the effort. He wanted to move, make even a slight thrust, but all he did was leave light kisses to the side of Sherlock's face. At this point, Mycroft's warm fingers ran down his back.

"Ah!" he groaned, accidentally contracting his muscles and going even deeper with his penis. He saw Sherlock open his mouth, but nothing came out of it. John felt dizzy as Mycroft repeated the gesture, but this time he pulled his fingers even lower. He caressed his hips and legs. There were too many sensations. It got worse when the older genius pressed his hands around his buttocks and started kissing one of them. John looked up and turned to see what was happening. He wasn't able to see much. Mycroft's naked back, red hair, forehead, and his closed eyes. He felt soft kisses and quick licks against his skin, right next to his own anus. It was too much. John pressed his face against Sherlock's shoulder.

Meanwhile, Mycroft stood back and ran his fingers down John's back once more. He reached for the vaseline. He took some on his fingers and began to tease John. "Can I?" he asked hoarsely.

"Hurry up," John replied desperately into Sherlock's shoulder. He knew he had been heard because he immediately felt Mycroft's finger inside him. "Umm ..." he groaned, clenching and pushing forward.

"Ah!" this time Sherlock sighed.

Over the past two weeks, Mycroft has mastered the technique of loosening John to perfection. He found his prostate right away and teased it with every thrust of his finger. After a moment he added a second and a third one, teasing John's back with his free hand.

John's penis pulsed the same as Sherlock's. The experiences on both sides drove him crazy. He heard his friend's moaning and found out that he had been moving his hips for a while, stuffing himself on Mycroft's fingers behind him and plunging deep into Sherlock in front. It was too good. He did not think straight. He loved that feeling. He accelerated his movements, only to lose control of his body after a while. With every thrust, he heard a loud "Ah!" from his friend's mouths. He groaned when Mycroft's fingers hit his prostate. Sherlock's penis was wet with precum. He rubbed his stomach against him. Sherlock's scent droved him crazy. His thrusts became deeper and faster. Much more desperate. He was close now. So close.

At this point, Mycroft wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and squeezed quite tightly. As John regained control of his own body, the older genius leaned over him and brought his lips to his ear. "Wait for me".

John shuddered again that day. He stopped his movements, much to Sherlock's displeasure. He grabbed his wrist because his friend was desperate enough to reach out to touch himself and finish the job. John pressed his hand on the pillow next to his head, leaned forward, and kissed him hard. He waited for Mycroft's next steps, but they never came. He broke the kiss and looked back.

"What are you waiting for?' he asked genuinely surprised.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes in a faint amusement that was meant to irritate the doctor a little. He did not answer for a long time. He finished putting the condom on, knelt right behind John, grabbed his hips, and began rubbing against him while teasing the sensitive area. "What do you expect from me to do, John?" he asked, staring at his own movements. "Hm? Tell me, please."  
  
John gritted his teeth. "Asshole ..." he muttered loud enough to be heard. "Put it in me," he finally mumbled, feeling the last inch of his body turn red with shame. He closed his eyes and groaned as Sherlock tightened around his cock even more at the words he spoke.

"What you want me to put in?" Mycroft continued to tease him with apparent pleasure in his voice and on his face. "My finger?"

John couldn't stand it. He turned his head quickly and stared at him irritably. "Your cock, you utter cock!" he shouted loudly so that no one would have any doubts. For a second, he regretted his words, because Mycroft entered him to the root with one move, but the shock and discomfort lasted briefly. With each thrust, pleasure poured throughout his body. Mycroft hammered into him with a controlled rhythm, sighing and groaning softly. Sherlock held him tightly in his arms and was gasping straight into his ear. He was trapped, unable to move. However, it was a trap in which he could stay for the rest of his life. He allowed his body to feel the pleasure given to him on both sides. Mycroft set the frustrating slow speed of the thrusts and kept his hips in place, but then gave him back control. John began to move his hips back and forth, fucking Sherlock and fucking himself on Mycroft's cock.

"John! A-aah! John!" Sherlock looked like he was going to cum. He writhed among the sheets, his calves tightened around John's thighs, his sweat soaking his pillow. "John!" he exclaimed, contracting his muscles and freezing for a moment. A second later, hot cum shot out of his penis. He tightened around his friend and squirted on his stomach for a long moment.

"Ah! Shit!" John closed his eyes but was trembling at hearing Sherlock's moans of pleasure. It took a while before he was able to slip out of him. He sighed as he looked at his friend.

Sherlock was a wreck. In the positive sense of the word. He was lying sweaty, red, with messy hair tied around his face. His stomach and legs were covered with semen. The last spasms of pleasure tugged him. "John" he muttered with trembling lips.

He didn't have time to answer. He was picked up by Mycroft, who wrapped his arms around him, pulled him to his chest, and seated him in front of him at the foot of the bed. He held it tight and thrust into his hole with much faster thrusts. He could feel the genius's hot chest, grunts, and breaths as he pressed his lips against his left temple. Possession or desperation. Those were the words John could describe Mycroft's behavior. He closed his eyes and let him do what he wanted. It was the first time he had had sex while sitting, and it was a bit strange to him, but Mycroft's strong arms gave him stability, and the angle was perfect because each thrust ended up hitting his prostate. His penis bounced with every movement, and the slaps of his body against other body made vulgar sounds that were filling the room. Mycroft moved faster and faster. The bed was starting to squeak with hard and rhythmic movements, and John knew he would not be able to last long. He reached behind and grasped Mycroft's hair.

"My-Mycroft! Fuck!". He opened his eyes slightly as he felt an extra pair of hands on his body. They were his friend's hands. He watched them as he was laying on the bed. He ran his fingers slowly over John's chest, caressing him and doubling the pleasure. Suddenly John felt those fingers on his cock and groaned loudly as Sherlock started massaging him in the same rhythm as Mycroft was hammering into him. It was too much. It only took a few moves and he came, spurting cum over Sherlock's arm, stomach, and the white sheets. His head was spinning and if not for the older genius's strong arm, he would have lost his balance.

"Umm! H-ha!" Mycroft kept fucking him. With his mouth open stuck to his temples, he was losing control more and more. He held him tightly with his arm until he finally groaned loudly. "Aaah!" He shivered and came in John's hole, thrusting his penis a few more times, but this time slower and gentler.

John was glad when the grip on his chest eased. He was sure his body would be all strong and sore in the next day. He was slowly regaining the ability to think soberly. As Mycroft pulled his penis out of him, he collapsed on the bed, face down. The older genius settled down right behind him. He was totally exhausted like the other two. They lay side by side for a long moment, breathing heavily and trying to regain consciousness and balance. The smell of sex and sweat filled the room. The sheets were sticky with sperm and other secretions. John's heart rate calmed down until he felt a familiar mouth between his shoulders. Mycroft kissed him gently and warmed him with his hot breath. It was so enjoyable that he wanted to close his eyes and plunge into pleasure. He didn't do it, because Sherlock sat on the bed, carefully turned him over on his back, and settled himself between his legs. He was surprised because his friend didn't seem to show any signs that this one time was enough for him. John groaned softly as Sherlock sucked on his sensitive body, running greedy hands over his arms, stomach, legs, and wherever he could.

 _What did I get myself into?_ he thought with amusement, tangling his fingers in his friend's black hair. He heard Mycroft's soft chuckle beside him. He looked at him as the genius removed his used condom.

"What are you so happy about?"

"I thought I had a hard time figuring out what's on your mind at times," Mycroft put down the condom and looked John in the eye. "I have finally found a place where I do not have and will not have problems with it in the future."

John frowned.

"No, Sherlock. Slowly and gently ..." Mycroft focused on what his brother was doing to John.

"Shut up. I know how to satisfy John. I know his body better than you do."

"Oh really? So you must know that if you touch him here..."

John stopped listening. He realized what he had actually gotten himself into. His love for both brothers pushed him to make decisions that he had never considered before. Mycroft was right. If he wanted to be happy, he had to abandon normality and follow his heart, without fear of evaluation and opinion of others. He loved Sherlock and he loved Mycroft, and they loved him. It was the most important thing. He has been looking for happiness and love all his life. Now as he watched Sherlock discuss something obviously very important with Mycroft, he realized that was what he wanted, and after so many years his dream had finally come true.


End file.
